Chains
by Experimental Madness
Summary: Post S3, Guy manages to survive the destruction of Nottingham Castle only to find himself captured by slavers. Wanting nothing more than to die, Guy finds the will to live again after befriending a fellow slave who may have her own inner demons to fight.
1. Broken Wheel

**Brand new fic for you all! And as usual I'm very excited about getting started. For every fic I do I like to do something a bit different. This story is what you might call a S4...if S4 consisted of only Guy related events. The rest of the gang shows up much later on in the story, and I promise plenty of drama and action. **

**This is about as in denial an author can get...XD Also, this story follows a more mature storyline so for the sake of those who want to be able to find it, I'm putting it up in T for now, but that is going to change. So if you like setting up Story Alerts do it now. I know how hard it is finding fics in the M rating for some reason or other.  
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**Robin Hood is (c) to BBC...I own nothing but a handful of characters, but at this point I borrow Guy so much I feel like I should have custody of him at least twice a week....once a month...the better half of the year..? XD

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I

Broken Wheel

Sherwood Forest was infamous in the minds of all traveling men. There could be no telling what trouble awaiting an unfortunate one who traversed those woods. If you didn't know the roads or the paths through the trees you were as good as caught by the outlaws which lurked in the forest.

For most merchants and nobility, it was an absolute nightmare to get through the forest, but for others it provided much needed cover. If one did not require the use of a main road, or found it to their disadvantage, Sherwood Forest was a blessing in disguise.

The cart rambled through the woods as if heedless to all the danger surrounding it. One man drove the cart onward, whipping the back of his horse occasionally when he felt their speed begin to slacken off. The cart itself was more like a cage, bars on all four sides of the cart were in place to secure the wares. Four men and a woman stood in the cart, gaunt and sunken, they appeared to be just over the line of starvation. They were clothed in rags and they stared out at the forests and the myriad of pathways with hungry eyes.

The evening sun seemed the catch fire over everything. The woman sunk to her knees, hands still gripping the bars of the cage as she looked out. She reached out a skeletally thin arm and gave a gasp as her hand came into contact with a few leaves on some low hanging branches and shrubs. She pulled her hand back in and smiled at the sight of three small leaves which she had brought back with her. She looked at them as if they were precious jewels. She stuffed the leaves into her rags, pressing them close to her heart.

Rising out of the trees and further down the path was the outline of Nottingham. The woman blinked at the sight of the town. It was not their destination, but there was always the chance that they would stop and pick up supplies and perhaps food. She was well aware that if any food was to be had she and the others would be lucky to get the better half of the scraps, but she would be grateful even for that.

Her stomach growled agonizingly and she placed a hand over it as if to silence it. Perhaps it was better to not think of food. She rested her head against the bars, feeling the vibrations of the wheels rattling over the rough road. Suddenly she was thrown backwards against the opposite side of the cart. The other men tumbled off of their feet as well. The cart tilted at an unnatural angle as the wheel snapped underneath. The horse whinnied in protest at the sudden strain against his back. The driver cursed the beast suddenly whipping him mercilessly in his rage.

When the dust settled he leapt down from the cart. His boots crunched under the stones marking the path as he bent down to examine the damage. One of the wheels had broken against a particularly large rock. This would take days off of their schedule, and they were already running late. He would have no choice but to make his way into town and get a new wheel.

The tattered woman peered over through the bars. The driver was busy assessing the damage and his attentions were focused solely on the wheel. Cautiously she reached a hand out through the bars. Her fingers stretched themselves out as she lowered her hand onto the man's belt. She clutched the ring of keys about the belt loop and unhooked it slowly. She raised her hand gently, careful not to rattle the keys as she brought them slowly inside the cart.

All eyes were on her as she inserted the key into the lock on the cage door. It turned with a most heavenly sounding click. The woman grinned from ear to ear as she swung open the door. Just at that moment of jubilation the driver righted himself and saw the woman push the door open.

"Blasted whore!" He shouted as she dove for the door.

The woman gave a scream of surprise and outrage. She tumbled out of the cart and landed heavily onto the gravelly road. The man managed to shut the door before the rest of the men could also escape.

Before the man could pounce on her, the woman rolled and sprang to her feet. Without a moment's hesitation she ran off down the road. She was without shoes, but she had no time to feel pain as hundreds of sharp rocks sliced at her feet. She laughed as she dared to look behind her. The man was chasing after her. She put on an extra burst of speed. Nottingham; she needed to get to the town and hide herself in the throngs of people no doubt bustling through.

Her legs strained and burned, having not been fed properly in days she could feel her energy waning even as she begged for her body to run faster. She could hear the man's shouts coming closer. No! She needed to get away. She had to run; freedom was so close at hand.

She managed to burst out of the forest and down into the plains. She could see the drawbridge which led into the town. She was going to make it! She jumped, springing forward with an almighty energy. Suddenly, something in her path caused her to lose her footing. She tripped, tumbling head over heels into the grass. Once down, her muscles refused to work for her a second longer. It was a struggle just to raise herself up on all fours. She turned to see what had caused her fall.

Her eyes widened a bit a surprise. A man was lying face down in the road, one arm outstretched as if he had been trying to crawl his way into the forest. A pool of blood was forming around him and as she looked back she could see lines of red in the road leading all the way to the town. What had happened to him?

She rose to her feet, as sorry as she was for the man's predicament, she had no time to check and see if he was alive, nor did she care. She was so close to real salvation. She was about to turn and run when she felt the cold metal of a knife blade being pressed into her back. "Run an' I'll stick ya an' leave ya to rot in the woods!" The rough voice of the driver hissed in her ears.

The woman's face fell as all previous hope was dashed from her eyes. She struggled and the man jabbed the knife against her. She winced in pain as she felt a thin line of blood trickle down her side. She stopped moving. The man gave her arm a swift tug, forcing her to walk in front of him while he led her back to the cart with the knife against her side. "You've just earned yourself a whipping, wench."

She turned her head and spat at the man's feet. He reacted by beating her about the head with the hilt of the knife. Stars flashed before the woman's eyes as she felt her brain rattle in her skull.

"What's this, then?" The man inquired as he glanced down at the wounded man.

He jabbed at the woman once more, "See if he's still breathin'."

Reluctantly the woman knelt beside the man, turning him over gently. She pressed a hand over his heart, but the coat he wore did not allow her to hear a heartbeat. She instead took his wrist in her hand. She held it for a few moments before announcing her discovery. "He's alive," she croaked.

"Well then, pick him up an' carry him back t' the cart," the man snarled.

"I can't carry him," the woman said.

"You had best try. If this man lives he'll fetch a fair price at the market, more than your skin an' bones will," he laughed, "Now get moving!"

The woman glared death the man, but did as she was told. She placed her arms about the unconscious man's waist and lifted him as best she could. She was reduced to dragging the man back into the forest, while at the same time trying to maintain her own balance. By the time she reached the fallen cart again she was trembling with exhaustion.

The men still trapped within the cart looked out at her with disappointment. She was escorted into the cage by the driver and she winced at the sound of the door shutting again. She let the injured man fall to the floor of the cart.

"That out t' hold all o' ya until I get back with the new wheel," the man said.

"I will need medicine and bandages...if you expect me to heal this man," the woman interjected.

The driver tossed a satchel into the cage. It was filled with simple poultices, bandages and needle and thread; supplies that had already been picked up at their last stop. "Make this do. I ain't spending no more money on you lot."

The woman once again knelt before the wounded man. She began to undo the buckles on his coat, sliding it off of him. She could see a dark stain spreading along the black tunic he wore underneath the coat. She rolled the fabric up and gave a gasp. A horrific gash marred the man's chest and she could tell he had been run through with a blade.

"Is there water?" She asked, looking at the others, "Where is the flask of water?"

"Here," one of the men said handed her a sizable flask, "It's all the water we'll get for a week."

She took the flask and poured it over a cloth, "We'll have to ration it then." The water should be warm, but there was no means to build a fire. She pressed the wet cloth against the man's wound, wiping away the blood. "Keep that cloth pressed against the wound," she instructed one of the other men.

She rummaged through the satchel and withdrew needle and thread. "Thank God, he is unconscious," she said. She moved the man out of the way and examined the gaping wound.

A few of the men winced at the sight of the woman surveying the internal damage. "He is a lucky man," she said, "Whoever stabbed him, they barely missed his heart."

"So he will live?"

The woman pierced the torn flesh with the needle beginning the tedious process of stitching the wound shut. "If the wound does not become infected, then yes, he will live. Although I hope for his sake he dies by tomorrow."

***

By the time the driver returned to the cart with the new wheel, the woman had nearly finished bandaging her patient up. "An' how fairs my discovery, hm?"

"He lives still," she said through gritted teeth.

"Good," he smiled, "That's gotten ya out of a few lashings, my sweet." He laughed as he set to work on repairing the wheel.

As soon as he was finished he unlocked the cage and pulled the woman out. She screamed and struggled wildly as he led her over to the trunk of a tree. The man tore off the woman's already tattered shirt, leaving her chest bare as he tied her wrists together and strung the rope up and over one of the branches. She squeezed her eyes tight as she heard the sound of the whip being cracked.

The first lash came so swiftly she barely had time to absorb the impact. The second lash; however, was another matter. She grunted in pain as a line of fire spread across her back. It was only ten lashes, less than what she was used to, but the pain was just as great. She could feel the lash grow slicker as it became coated with her blood. Her breath came heavy and forceful from her lungs as she fought back the urge to cry out. Rivulets of blood dripped down her back and she chose to focus on each drop as it fell. One, two, three; she counted each second as each drop of crimson trailed down the scarred skin of her back, almost as tattered as the rags she wore to conceal it. One, two three...a flash pain and then an almost soothing warmth as her own blood spread over her. She was tossed back into the cart at the end of her punishment, her shirt tossed to her carelessly. She donned it quickly, regardless of how much it scratched and irritated her wounds. It was better than being forced to expose herself before so many men, who, even though had never touched her, had often stared at her as if they wished too.

"Should've saved some of those bandages for yourself," one of the men whispered, handing her some water.

"I'll be fine," she said, the whip was not a strong one and the leather straps had not bitten in too deep. She tried to straighten, but she settled for remaining hunched in the corner of the cart until the majority of the pain passed and the thin gashes on her back scabbed over.

"You're not gonna give me anymore trouble, are ya, my pretty one?" The slave driver remarked, presses his face against the bars of the cage.

The woman merely stared back at him silently, her eyes focusing out on the trees and the stretch of road leading far away down back into the heart of the forest. The driver's face burned red in annoyance. He reached a hand in through the bars and grabbed her, "I said are ya?"

He slapped her face a few times until at least she answered a reluctant and hate filled yes. He released her and she curled back up into her corner. The man laughed at her, "Don't envy the man that gets ya, but I wish him all the luck in taming ya."

The woman ignored him, wincing at the harsh sound of the man's laughter as he went back to his post. The cart gave a great lurch as it heaved its way out of the ditch and back onto the road. The woman plucked at a tattered blanket lying alongside her. She considered draping it about herself and settling down to rest, but the injured man beside her caught her eye and gave her pause.

She placed a hand over his heart cautiously, almost surprised to still find his heart steadily beating. Whoever he was, he was certainly the most stubborn creature she had ever seen. She took the blanket and tucked it about him. He needed to stay warm in order to recover. As she settled down in the corner she wondered who had left the man out in the road to die like a dog. There was a flash of resentment in her mind; whoever had left him out there so carelessly had cost her her freedom. If she had not stumbled over him she would be lost in the town, a free woman.

What did it matter now? She closed her eyes and tried to ignore the stinging, fiery pain racing up and down her aching back. They were both slaves now.

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**A/N: Live in suspense with who the lovely new lady character is. Her name won't be mentioned until the third chapter in. Yes, I've already written that far ahead so you can expect the next chapter to be up soon. I hope you all are intrigued enough to continue! :) As usual, drop me a review to let me know what you think. **


	2. The Slave

II

The Slave

So this was what hell looked like then. Somehow he had always imagined it quite differently. Here it was dark and cold, but unbearable. He was alone; however, and that he had not expected. He thought he would have at least earned the right to see Marian one last time before the flames of hell consumed him. Should he really be surprised though that he would not even be granted that one simple wish? It didn't matter how many times he repented, or how he had come to understand what it truly meant to fight for a cause worth dying for. It didn't matter that he had, indeed, died for something greater than him.

There wasn't any bitterness in these realizations, he found he lacked the energy to hate. If this was what the rest of his eternity would be it was not so bad. Even the loneliness was soothing in its way, at least here there was no one to betray him, there was no one to be disappointed in him, and there was no one he could hurt. As he rested in the blackness he began to feel sharp pinpricks of pain in his chest. He ignored them, trying to turn over to situate himself more comfortably, but the pain stayed constant. Now it was even beginning to throb.

He placed a hand over his chest. The pain was rapidly spreading until it reached all over his body. He tried to scream, but there was no sound. He writhed, unable to drag enough air into his lungs to vocalize the sudden extreme pain which had swamped his senses. It was a familiar pain. He received flashes of memory; a sword and a dagger driving into his chest and his back.

Somewhere in the darkness he could hear a little voice speaking to him. He didn't recognize the voice, and it never spoke his name, but he knew she was speaking to him. Her voice was soothing as she hushed him and he could feel the ghostly presses of her hands against him as she urged him to be still.

He tried to fight her off, but he could not hold out for long. She continued to speak to him in gentle tones; her voice had the quality of wind on a cold winter day. She whispered softly to him, telling him he must be a fighter, a warrior, he was brave to have survived for so long as he had on his own. Where had he come from? He would be all right, he was assured by the sweet voice—he was positive it was an angel, an angel taking pity on him. He would be all right because she would not let him die. But he was already dead...

The pain began to fade again and so did the voice. The hands released him, but he reached out, trying to find the source of his comforter. For an instant he thought he had found the angel, but his touch was quickly batted away by a frightened hand. He grappled in the darkness, his moment of serenity banished. Loneliness was only bearable if no one invaded it to prove the reality of the isolation. He craved the touch of the angel again, just to know that the sense to feel still existed within him, just to know he was still and had been a human.

He had been keening, and he did not realize this until he once again felt the cool touch of a hand, this time against his brow. The gentle voice hushed him, telling him to be at peace, to rest, for he would need his strength. Who was it; who was helping him? Who was it? Who was it? Who was it?! But the darkness was impenetrable, he could not see her face.

He felt his senses reel as the darkness swirled around him like a storm. As his consciousness faded to the background once more he was at last positive that this was Hell.

***

He awoke. He had to blink several times into the all too bright and real sunlight to be certain of this fact. He had awoken, but not into heaven or into hell. He had merely...opened his eyes. He was certain of only a few things: one, that he was lying in a caged cart staring up at the wooden ceiling, two, that it was a chill winter day and the sun was high in the sky so it was the middle of the day, and three, he was most certainly alive. This last fact brought with it a dismay he felt would crush him.

How could he be alive? He had been ready and willing to die. When the knife had pierced his skin it was almost a blessed relief to pass into the afterlife. He was so tired of the world of the living. Why was it his curse to continue living when all those he ever cared for were dead and buried?

He did not bother moving, he knew he had not the strength to even raise his head to get a better look at his surroundings. At least there was no more pain, just a dull ache. He could feel the weight of bandages around him. Someone had tended to him. His first instinct was that this must be Robin's doing. He had told that man to leave him once they had escaped the tunnel, he had told the stubborn, insufferable fool to let him go. At least he wouldn't die in the hellish dark of the underground. In the midst of his anger he realized that the man he cursed would be dead by now; having made his final stand back at Nottingham Castle, sacrificing himself so that everyone else might live. Ever the hero.

"You're awake!"

A woman leaned over him; pale skin blotted a muddy tan from dirt, raven hair matted to her head, the only thing clear and bright were her tempest gray eyes. She wore rags which barely clung to her skin and bones body. He looked at her strangely. He did not recognize her, yet he knew that voice. She had been the one speaking to him.

"I was beginning to think you would not make it," she said. "You were very near death when I found you. Been nearly five days since then."

She was holding a flask of water in her hands and he found he could look at nothing else. His throat was raw and he was positive his voice was gone. She followed the line of his eyes and approached him, helping him to lift his head so that he could have some of the water. Nothing had ever tasted so sweet. He drank from the flask greedily, but the woman pulled it away before he could have his fill. "Can't let you have all that. It's all we get for a week."

What was she talking about? He could feel the water have a cooling effect on his throat. He needed to try to speak. "You..you should have let me...die." His voice was a stranger's, it was hoarse and weak, but his spite was still there. What right did some meddling woman have to come along and ruin his one chance for peace?

The woman had not been expecting those to be his first words to her. She recoiled slightly. "Where am I? Where have you taken me?" he snapped.

"You're on the road to London," the woman explained. "With the rest of us."

For the first time he could see the faces of other men, peering at him from across the cart. They appeared just as starved, dirty, and beaten as the woman. What was this place?

"I am sorry," the woman said sincerely as his eyes went back to her. What did she mean she was sorry?

"How's my prize?" The booming voice of the slave driver startled them all. The woman jumped at the sight of him. He laughed at her from outside the cage. "Heard you say he was awake, let's have a little look then, shall we?"

The woman backed out of the way to allow the man to glance at the captive. The injured man stared back at him. "Looks like I was right about ya," he spat, "a strong one you turned out t' be."

"What do you want with me?" He snarled, disliking this weasel of a man.

"Tame, tame...wouldn't want ya t' go undoing all o' this fine young lass' good work. You're mine now. Mine in body an' soul until we get to London. So I'd suggest ya rest up now, you're gonna need all our strength if ya expect me t' fetch a price at the markets." The man laughed again, a most aggravating sound.

What did the man mean? What markets? A sick feeling was building up inside of him and he tried to force down the reality of his situation. He could not mean what he think he had meant.

"Ya get his strength up, got that?" He gestured toward the woman who nodded her head fervently. "Good," he headed back over to his driver's perch and got the cart rumbling on again.

The woman turned back towards him, "Geoffrey...he's...he's our...driver. Lucky, you caught him in one of his better moods."

The lash scars he saw atop her shoulders and peeking out from under a few of the loose fitting rags were a testament to this Geoffrey's bad moods. "Prisoners?" the man croaked out.

"Slaves," the woman stated bluntly, "waiting to be bought and sold in the markets at London."

The man went silent for a time. From outlaw to slave, that seemed fitting enough. God was not yet through punishing him for his crimes. Perhaps there would be nothing he could do to earn forgiveness. His freedom was the last thing he could call his own and that, too, would be stolen from him. He was hardly surprised at this twist of fate.

"I need to clean your wound," the woman said, lifting up his black tunic to unwrap the bandages along his chest.

"You are either the luckiest man, or the most unfortunate...the stitches haven't become infected." The women poured just a drop of water onto a spare cloth and began to dab at the crudely stitched up gash. "Looks like you'll live to serve your new master."

"Are you a healer?" He asked her for she seemed to know a great deal about the healing arts.

"No, but I was taught some basic skills in the craft." That was all she would say on the matter, and he could tell there was a secret behind those carefully constructed words.

"Basic," his tone was heavily mocking, "then maybe there's a chance I will die after all."

"Listen, it is thanks to you that I am still stuck in this hell. If it hadn't been for you I would have been half to home by now!" The woman hissed, her bright eyes clouding over as a storm passed through them. "I saved your miserable life whether you like it or not, and I intend to keep you alive until you are bought and sold like the rest of us. Understand?"

"Is that meant to frighten me?" He laughed harshly.

"It is a fact," she barked, "you are a slave. Less than human. You don't have the luxury of fright."

His hand shot out as he grabbed the woman, forcing her towards him. "You would do well to watch how you speak to me, wench. Do not think that just because you saved my life I feel that I owe you anything."

"Get your hands off me." The woman tried to feebly pry the man's fingers off of her arm. This only caused him to bear down harder on her. "Get off of me!" She cried.

This was not general annoyance at being bested in a fight. He saw the animal terror in her eyes as she clawed at his hand. He released her and she backed away into her corner completely and utterly subdued. So this storming woman was capable of fear? Good. He smirked at her, enjoying her sudden submissive behavior. She would do well to leave him be.

"Why did ya do that?" One of the men asked him, having watched the display quietly for some time, "She was only trying t' help ya."

"I don't need her help. I didn't ask for it, did I?" He spat.

The slave merely shrugged and looked away, knowing better than to argue with the stubborn man. The injured man lay still for a time. His wound was beginning to throb again, but he dared not let on that he was in pain. He glanced over at the woman. She lay with her head against the bars of the cage staring out at the road, eyes blank as new parchment. The sleeve of her raggedy dress fell off of her shoulder. A motley array of whip marks and other scars became visible to the man. His eyes went wide for a moment at the sight of the nasty collection. The woman idly pulled the sleeve back up and over herself, hiding the harm which had been done to her.

A dull sense of shame washed over him. He should not have tried to frighten the poor girl, she had probably lived through far worse than his empty threats. As if the woman sensed his eyes upon her, she suddenly turned to him, her gaze accusing. The man looked over to the flask of water lying just out of his reach.

"Are you thirsty?" she asked him as she reached for the flask.

"Yes."

She smiled kindly as she handed the water off to one of the other men. "Suffer," she spat.

He changed his mind. He did not feel sorry for that accursed witch at all.

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**A/N: I promise you will find out the names of the new girl in the next chapter. XD I know I've been keeping you all in the dark with it. As usual, drop me a review! **

**P.S: Winter break is coming. That time of year where lots of story updates will occur! Also, next semester is going to be extremely busy for me, as I just recently received an editorial internship at a publishing house!!! But I promise to keep up with all my fics. :)  
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	3. Shy

III

Shy

The woman writhed on the floor of the cage. Her face contorted in agony as her body curled and uncurled. Her mouth would open from time to time as if she meant to scream, and who was to say that she did not scream in her own private fashion? The others watched silently. The injured man stared at the display curiously. He had never considered himself a sadist, certainly watching a poor girl writhe in the throes of a nightmare was not something he would have ever considered tolerable, even if that girl had been a source of deep annoyance.

The woman awoke with a gasp, her head buried in her arms. She untangled herself slowly as consciousness returned to her. Her brow was drenched with sweat and she glanced around at the others with a mixture of horror and humiliation. She retreated once more to her corner of the cage. She brought her knees to her chest and hugged them tight to her, a pitiable ball of flesh and rags.

"Who would have ever guessed slaves are capable of having nightmares," the man said, his voice laced with taunting sarcasm.

"You know nothing about it. Shut up," the woman snapped.

"You know there's no cure for nightmares?" the man went on, "You'll have them for the rest of your miserable life--"

"I said shut up!" The woman shouted, her voice cracking with the force of breath. There was something in the woman's eyes; her tone of voice which broke keenly with the raised inflection of a whine, that caused the man to stop his taunting.

There was silence for a time. He tried to read what was written behind the woman's obvious distress, but her gray eyes provided a blank slate. Trouble and pain were clear to see, but anything else was not detectable. Was she even capable of feeling as a human?

"What's your name?" Why hadn't he thought of ever asking her that simple question?

The woman glared at him, "Why do you want to know?" She retorted, much in the tone of a sullen child.

"I think I have a right to know the name of the woman who saved my life...reluctantly or not," he said.

"Tell me your name first," she barked. "I don't give my name to just anyone. It's mine."

"My name is Guy," he said.

Nothing from the woman, not even a flicker of curiosity. She stared at him, but looked directly passed him, her eyes never meeting his own, as if she was blind and incapable of seeing him. "Now you tell me your name," he said.

She fidgeted, dropping her gaze to her feet as she contemplated whether or not it was even worth telling him her name. When she looked up at him, coming to the decision that she might as well reciprocate the offer, Guy was taken with the feeling that she was giving him something for more than a mere word. Her name was the only thing she owned. She was letting him borrow it for a time in his memory.

"Shy."

That wasn't a name. He had to bite his lip to stop from commenting on the unusualness of her name. The name was a slave's name; a pet name her former master had given her no doubt. No better than a dog who is given a name to define his temperament. Still, it was of value to her, wherever the name must have come from she had made it her own now. There was no point in riling the woman's temper any further over the technicalities of a simple name.

She appeared more than tired as she turned her gaze back to the darkening stretch of road. The cart rumbled to a halt as they pulled over out of the main pathway. The horse gave a brief whinny as they were tied tight to a nearby tree; grateful for the rest.

Geoffrey tapped upon the iron bars of the cage, peering inside with a grin on his face. Shy stared back at him. He held up a piece of rope in his hands, the sight of which caused Shy to immediately fly back to an opposite corner. Before she could move; however, Geoffrey caught her arm. He laughed as he bound her wrists together. He thrust her backwards, picking up the rest of the rope, giving it a swift tug, sending Shy tumbling forward onto her face.

"Oh, no don't give me such a look," Geoffrey said as she led her to the front of the cage, "These winter nights get frighteningly cold. You should be grateful not t' spend them alone." He unlocked the cage as he tugged the woman towards the door.

She tugged and tried to pull herself backwards, pulling her arms up and back like a wild mare unwilling to be tamed and taken from her herd. A hand about her ankle steadied her. Shy nearly yelped in panic. Guy had forced himself forward, unable to stand, he remained nearly lying flat on his stomach, one hand clutched tightly around Shy's leg, pulling her towards the back of the cage. "Let go of her," he said hoarsely.

Geoffrey merely laughed as he tugged Shy forward. Guy lacked the strength to pull her back again and she went stumbling out of his grasp. "Ya had best learn your place, dog," Geoffrey said as she pulled Shy out of the cage, shutting the door firmly behind her and locking it. "I assure ya, this one has." He squeezed Shy's cheeks together, shaking her head.

Geoffrey led Shy away from the cart. That night the air was thick with the short, pained cries of a woman and the heavy panting of a man. Babbled pleas, the swift strikes of slaps, a kick, a scream, a muffled shout, a groan, scratching, the sharp scuffling of hands digging into the ground; of a body arching and falling. Guy thought he would be sick with the sound. It was still the middle of the night when the cage door creaked open and the violated body of the woman was tossed back inside like so much useless rubble.

Shy lay flat on her stomach, the only sound emitting from her ragged form that of a gasping breath. She curled her hands into fists as she lifted herself off of the floor. She crawled back to her corner of the cage. A searing rip shattered the silence. Shy tore at the skirt of her dress, using the piece of cloth to clean herself. She wiped at her stomach, thighs, and face; places where evidence of her violation were most obvious. A whimper escaped her as she rubbed at her skin harder and harder with the rough cloth. She tossed it away from her when she was finished.

A blanket appeared in her line of vision. Shy looked at it curiously. Guy pushed it towards her weakly. Shy gripped the edge of it cautiously, but she could not deny the chill which permeated the air. She was quick to wrap it about herself.

"I don't want your pity," she said, her voice guttural.

"Good, I lack the ability to feel pity," Guy replied.

"I think you are lying," Shy retorted, "you tried to help me. You can't deny that."

He tried to shrugged, "You were defenseless--"

"Who are you to decide that?" Shy snapped. "This is the way of the world. My defense is my submission....they beat you less the more complacent you are," she grinned like a feral cat.

"That is wrong," Guy said, disgusted at her answer. "You are a Christian woman; not to be treated as some wild animal kept in a cage."

"How nobel of you, you still believe the world works in a system of honor. Christian or otherwise; man or woman...makes no difference to these people. I am a profit. If I sell does it matter to which God I pray to? Or to which sex I belong?" Shy laughed coldly and without a smile, "I am an object of labor and pleasure."

"Not good enough," Guy grabbed her by the arm before she could turn herself away, "I can get you out of here."

"You frighten me, Guy," Shy said honestly, "I hope you leave me alone."

"I do not abandon those I pledge my word to. I will make you a free woman, Shy," Guy said.

"Why?"

"There is still honor in the world," Guy said. How ironic then, that he should be the one to show it to her.

***

The morning fog did not let up by the afternoon and it soon became apparent that they would be traveling through mist and rain for the better half of the day. Shy picked at the scrap of bread which represented her day's rations. She had developed a talent for making any amount of food last for as long as possible. She ate scarcely, like a bird pecking at a crumb. Many of the other slaves had been newly captured and did not know what starvation meant. They grabbed at the food that was given to them and scarfed it down so fast that the moment an hour went by they were hungry again.

Shy was content to sit in her corner. Miserable weather like this meant she was less likely to be bothered in the night; Geoffrey being too exhausted from driving the cart through the rain and the mud. Her sickly companion; however, was recovering faster than she would have thought possible. Guy was able to sit up on his own now, and he had been stubborn enough to try and stand. That had lasted for only a few brief moments, before he fell back to the floor, exhausted. Shy had given up trying to stop him, the man would listen to no one least of all her. Yet, he had proven to be immensely intriguing. The man carried himself like one of some nobility, acted like a mercenary, and had the ingenuity of a beggar. Shy was not altogether comfortable not knowing what to think of him. She couldn't be sure if he was as honorable as he claimed to be.

However, that night he proved his intentions. Shy had heard the familiar sound of the rope being pulled taunt. Geoffrey had not tired himself out. He got down from the cart and it was only a matter of moments before he tied her wrists together and led her out of the cage. She had grown numb to the fear of abuse, but her body remembered the pain. Every agonized and frayed nerve seemed to sting and throb at the reality of further torment, yet Shy clasped her wrists together willingly. It would go easier on her if she did not resist—if she lay still and kept silent and calm it would be over and it would be quick.

The rope was tied roughly about her wrists. She shuffled to her feet to walk over to the cage door. The very moment she stood to go Guy was at her side. He gripped the rope with both hands and pulled backwards with a strong, swift tug. Geoffrey was forced forwards at a violent rate, his face colliding with the metal bars with a very loud and satisfying clang. Geoffrey cursed in muffled and pain stricken yelps. When he came back into view his face was covered in blood and he was holding his nose.

Shy stared at the sight with a look of absolute shock before a heartless little smile crossed her face. She could hear Guy give the slave driver a word of warning, "Leave the girl alone."

"Damnable bastard!" Geoffrey screeched, "I'll make you suffer for that."

Any other slave would have had their back flayed to shreds for causing Geoffrey physical harm, but Guy was already in a weakened state and as humiliated as Geoffrey was, he was not about to risk the life of a slave on a vendetta. His punishment came; however, in the form of rationing. Guy's food was partitioned away on the other slaves, keeping the slave in a constant state of weakness brought on by perpetual hunger. Let the noble one try and challenge his authority a second time and he would not find him so merciful. Slave or not, profit or not...if he was more trouble than he was worth Geoffrey had no qualms over killing the man.

"You're a fool," Shy whispered to Guy two days after the offense had been committed.

"I have been called worse," Guy shrugged. The woman amused him, where there had first been annoyance he found the girl a well concealed mystery he had a wish to answer. Her cloudy eyes held no trace of any true emotion. She stared at him with her half smiles and her humorless gazes and he wondered what she thought. The scares on her skin told a ready enough story and he flinched if he stared at them too long. He had had his way with many women, it was true, but he had never taken any by force before, he had never even fathomed it. Shy was a brand of injustice in his sight that needed to be extinguished. He did not know why it angered him so, perhaps it was because she had saved his life.

Shy divided up her meager meal and gave Guy half of the loaf of bread. "Eat," she said, "I told you I would have you live to see the slave market."

Guy accepted the food readily, far too hungry to allow his pride to restrict him in accepting the charitable offer. "You do not act like the other slaves," he said casually as he ate.

"That would make two of us, yes?" Shy retorted.

Guy ignored her sarcastic jibe, "You're educated, you have a knowledge of the medicinal arts, and you do not act like one who has always known a life in bondage."

"Shall I tell you what I think of you then, while we are all in a mood for sharing?"

"Humor a fool?" Guy said with a smirk.

The gray eyes shifted about, contemplating. She questioned him, doubting every word he spoke to her and regarding him with the utmost distrust. It was apparent she cared for no one and nothing save herself and her own survival. She did not know how to be around an equal. She snapped and growled because she had no sword or shield with which to defend herself. It was a shame she had been doomed to a life of slavery, she would have made a formidable woman if free.

"I have a family," Shy said very quietly, relating a great secret to him, "Just outside of Rotherham. My father is a miller. He had to sell me you see, we were poor. I don't blame him. I was very little. He took me into the town and told them I was an orphan waif. I was bought by the household of Lord Foster. He kept me." Her words snapped together like dried twigs, revealing none of her feelings. Guy found himself wincing as she glanced over who had bought her. The lack of emotion was enough. "His wife was a good woman, kind...she taught me things. She felt sorry for me. I never blamed her. She was simple."

"How did you end up back on the market then?"

"I tried to kill Lord Foster," Shy said with a shrug of her shoulders, as if this was the most natural thing in the world. "Too much trouble. They sold me to Geoffrey and now I am to get a new master and new chains. I am a very well traveled girl." She smiled eerily at her own joke. "Now tell me about you."

She operated on a quid pro quo basis. This did not surprise him, for someone with so little every scrap of truth and information was as important as currency. If she revealed too much of herself without receiving anything in return it would be akin to him robbing her, or worse violating her sense of self. She stared at him with that same emotionless, calculating stare. In a way it was like looking into the eyes of a caged animal. He could wonder if it could feel any of the injustice it was being forced to endure, but he could not fathom the mind and the soul which lurked just under the surface.

"There is not much to tell," Guy said. "Anything worth knowing is better off remaining in the past."

"A man is found lying in a pool of his own blood, left for dead and he expects me to believe anything worth knowing is better off in the past? I would call that a lie," Shy scoffed. She crumbled a few pieces of the bread between her fingers before licking the crumbs away.

"You have your secrets. Let me have mine," He was growing tired of her word games.

"Who is Marian?"

Guy's hands found his way about Shy's throat faster than she could have scrambled away. "How did you hear that name?" He growled, pining the woman to the floor of the cage. Shy kicked out with her legs. Guy's strength had steadily been returning to him throughout that past few days. Shy gagged and tried to force air down into her lungs, but the pressure exerted on her throat was making that nearly impossible. She clawed at his hands, her eyes wide in terror.

It was as if Guy could no longer see her. That name, the image it concocted in his mind was enough to drive him insane. Shy arched her back, letting out a high pitched whine, trying desperately to force him to release her. The sound cracked through the red haze of his blood lust and the strength left his hands. He released her and backed away. Shy sat up immediately, a hand over her throat as she coughed air back into her body. Bruises were already beginning to from along the sides of her neck.

Guy stared at her, taking in the damage he had just done. He looked down at his hands in shock. Was this what he had become then? Merely a weapon incapable of providing anyone with anything save pain and torture? Red still clouded his vision. Sand and desert heat; a woman in white running to him, a sword...a pool of blood and dying and death and pain—no more!

"Shy...I..." He tried to reach out to her.

"Don't hurt me!" She cried as she backed away from him, "I'll be good. Please, don't hurt me..."

"I won't hurt you," Guy said, doing his best to keep his voice level and calm. He did not approach the frightened woman. "Shy, I'm sorry...I didn't mean to hurt you..."

Shy did not believe him. She was a dog who had been beaten too many times to accept a ready apology after a lashing. She could not be comforted by forgiveness and she knew better than to trust someone again after they had tried to harm her. It was self preservation. Guy knew it well; even if the guilt he was now feeling exceeding all forms of empathy. "I'm sorry." He continued to tell her. "Shy, please, believe me."

"You won't do that again?" She asked.

"Never."

She still did not move away from her corner, although her terror seemed to be calming. Guy inched closer. "No!" Shy yelled at him. "Don't come near me!" She held out a hand to keep him at bay.

Guy stopped as he was told. The only time any source of true emotion could be seen from the woman was when she was frightened. Her tempest eyes went wide and Guy could see a myriad of past horrors flashing before her. It was not him, necessarily, she was afraid of, it was everything he might do to her, every abuse his violent actions represented.

Guy backed away from Shy, giving her time for her panic to recede. He leaned against the bars behind him, feeling that dizzy sensation he always did when he exerted himself too much. "You have secrets...memories you don't want to think about?" He asked her, he did not expect a response so he went on, "Marian is...was the woman I..." The woman he what? Loved? Killed? Betrayed? Adored? What was more prominent? He found he could not speak.

At last Shy turned to look at him, her gray eyes once more devoid of all expression. She nodded at him, as if to tell him he need not tell her, for she could guess all on her own. "You call for her while you sleep," she said softly, "I should not have asked. I am sorry."

"You had a right to ask," Guy was surprised that he was willing to admit that, "I had no right to treat your curiosity as I did." His time with Robin Hood must have had some effect on him. Never would he have apologized for his temper or behavior towards another stranger, even if this stranger was the reason he was still alive.

Shy regarded with an appraising look. She decided he might not be as much of a danger to herself as she first thought. After all, did he not prevent Geoffrey from taking her from the cage? But that could mean so many things: he could want her for his own and had only deterred Geoffrey so that he might be able to use her as he wished. She had experience with such men before. Honorable at first but all treacherous. What did it matter at any rate? They would arrive in London soon and she would be sold and so would he. She would do well not to dwell on a man she would never see again.

* * *

**A/N: So now you all know a little bit about Shy. A word of caution, Shy is a highly disturbed individual. The things that have been done to her and the things she has witnessed are severe. I do not use abuse, violence, or rape as a plot device to create minor angst. I take these things extremely seriously and they will be treated as such within this story. Hence the Mature rating for this fic. **

**Also, I'm aware of the slavery laws for the time period. This is not a very public slave trade, laws are broken...as I'm sure most of you have already guessed at by now.  
**

**It's going to be a bit of a journey for Guy from here on out. As always do send me a review and let me know what you think. :)  
**


	4. Market

IV

Market

"You've been quiet."

It was ironic that Shy should say such a thing, for she had hardly spoken a word in the course of two days. Guy looked over at her, eyebrow raised. "There has not been much to talk about, wouldn't you agree?" In truth, he hadn't thought she had wanted him to speak to her again after what he had done to her.

Shy cocked her head to one side, "What have you been thinking of, then?" Those curious eyes of her bored right through him, demanding to know what was going on in his head. He didn't like the intrusion. Perhaps this conversation was a way of announcing that she had declared a truce between the two of them. Guy did not wish to shatter the fragile bond.

"I was thinking of what kind of master to expect at the slave market." His sarcasm elicited a reaction from the woman; a twisting, little smirk. It was one of the few emotional expressions the woman gave.

"Don't expect a master. Men are cruel and violent...no offense—a mistress is more likely to treat her slaves better," Shy explained, wincing a little at her harsh descriptions of men.

"I've known many women who were as cruel and violent as men," Guy countered. His sister came readily to mind, and while he could still feel the sickening sting of betrayal he could not fault his sibling entirely for her wickedness. It had been his fault she had found herself with an abusive husband. If she had become cruel it was only because that was what she had had to make herself become in order to survive. He sighed, he remembered the pale, dark haired little girl with a smile on her face. This was the image of his sister he wanted to keep. The little girl who was always happy and always wanting to engage her older brother in some mischief or other, not the cold and unfeeling woman she had become.

"A mistress is still better than a master," Shy said, unconvinced. "Lady Thea was kind, she was a good mistress."

"Was she Lord Foster's wife?" Guy asked.

Shy nodded, "She was a good mistress," she repeated.

"She still kept you against your will. She didn't help you escape. She was still your captor. That is neither kind nor good," Guy stated.

"Being given a book instead of a beating is kind," Shy said, not evening allowing herself to hesitate in her defense of her former mistress. "She never asked me for anything and she was not there when I was sold into Foster's household. Believe me, she was a slave just as much as I was."

Could he say nothing right to this woman? He was constantly stumbling over his own words and his own judgments. He did not like retracting statements or rethinking his own thoughts. This Lady Thea was obviously held in saintly regard by Shy. How anyone could worship their own master seems appalling to him. Lady Thea may not have beaten Shy, but she had done nothing to aid her in an escape or to defend herself when she had been abused repeatedly. That did not make her a saint, she was just as guilty as her husband.

"You are not going to be a slave anymore," Guy said to her.

"You still think you are going to escape?" Shy could not believe it.

"I gave you my word that I would free you."

"You can barely stand let alone fight!" Shy crowed.

"You do not know me well, Shy, but my word is my bond. If I say I will free you I will."

Shy regarded him with a frightened look, one borne of intimidation and insecurity. "I do not doubt you," she said very softly. "But I told you to leave me alone."

"I will," Guy said, "after we are both long gone from the slave market."

"I've tried to escape before. You won't get far. They always find you...always." She remembered the beatings she had received each time she had tried to escape from Geoffrey or Foster. Sometimes she had almost relished those beatings, thinking perhaps now they would finally kill her and she would truly be free of them once and for all, but the beatings carried her to within an inch of life, leaving her breathing and clinging to the dark hope that when she closed her eyes it would be for good. This man simply had no right to offer her freedom while she was still living. Hope like that was a commodity no one had the means to pay for. Her soul was far too depleted, and her heart only functioned to keep blood flowing through her, not to supply her with expectation.

Shy did not take Guy's promises to heart. She neither trusted, nor believed him. He had never been a slave before, he did not understand that escape was pointless. He would break like all the others in time.

***

The cart stopped a mile or two before reaching London. Geoffrey unrolled a large cloth cover, which he draped over the cage. The black cover was lashed down with a rope, discouraging any curious eyes from peaking inside to discover the human wares. The slaves sat in total darkness as the cart continued at its usual lumbering pace. Disoriented by the darkness, they huddled close to the bars to feel a sense of control over the movement of the cart.

"Doesn't want anyone looking in," Shy explained in a soft whisper to Guy.

"Then shout for help, let the people know you're trapped in here," Guy suggested.

"They'll think we're mad and being removed to an asylum. No one will do anything for us...except purchase us at the market. When are you going to learn that no one cares?" Shy glanced over her shoulder at Guy, but all she could see was a dim outline of his body.

"I'd say for all your talk about wanting to be free, you're a coward," Guy accused. "So what if the people don't do anything? At least you'll have done something for yourself."

Shy uttered a few choice curses under her breath. "You really are thick aren't you?" she drawled, "Not only would shouting and raising a fuss draw attention to us, it wouldn't get me out of here. Up in York I tried it, all it earned me was a gag in my mouth and another few weeks spent in this cage. If I choose to do nothing it's because I've already tried everything. Now just shut up, keep your head down, and play the part you're given. If I don't sell here at least I'll still be kept alive...I'm not sure I can say the same about you." She was grinning viciously in the dark, but Guy could not see it.

"I'd say that leaves me with good options."

"You're mad."

"Maybe."

The cart continued to lumber onwards. Shy was almost positive she could hear the sound of water nearby. Were they being taken close to the river? The place in York had been underneath a tavern. The cellar had been dank and dark. There had been a few lantern lights, but that was all. It wasn't a large assembly of buyers, but Geoffrey had not been expecting a crowd. Two men had been sold and Shy had expected that she was going to be bought as well. The buyers were eager to examine her and make sure she was in healthy condition. Shy had had to restrain herself from biting of their fingers as they turned her head from side to side, checked her teeth, her hands, as well as other, more tempting parts of her body. She was supposed to be a mute, and as slow as a mule. A mute couldn't declare a God, and an idiot wouldn't have the sense to try and proclaim an identity. She was a nameless, voiceless, object.

In hindsight it had not been one of her better ideas to suddenly start screeching who she really was. To her would-be master's credit he refused to pay for her after hearing she could speak and was far from stupid, but that was all the help she was to receive from the man. He had neither freed her after learning she was not of ambiguous faith. He had merely fled the scene before she could attract attention from the patrons upstairs.

Her performance had earned her the beating of her life, and another hard journey. Shy was not about to open her mouth and scream for help, when she knew perfectly well no help would come and it would only prolong her stay with Geoffrey, and she was desperate to get away from him. At least if she was with another master and in another household, she would be free to perhaps, plan a better way of escape. There was little to be done while sitting, trapped in a cage.

The cart stopped, and the sudden lack of motion threw Shy against the bars of the cage roughly. She winced as she banged up against fresh cuts. The rope was slowly pulled away from the cart and the black cloth concealing them was removed. Shy closed her eyes instinctively, to shield her eyes from the sudden onslaught of light, but much to her surprise, the light was only a dull grey in the cloudy sky. It had started to rain while they had ridden into town. Shy could see the dark damp of the city streets beyond the archway.

Shy quickly scanned her surroundings. They were under a bridge near to the river, she could see the water winding it's way through the city. The archway of the bridge was covered enough that it hid them sufficiently from passersby. Shy gripped the cage bars, her knuckles turning white. There were only men staring back at her from beyond the cage. Only men, with their slimy, eager faces and their satchels full of money to pay for the lives of humans. Shy's lips drew back in a snarl as she looked out at them. She gave a hiss when one man caught her eye, baring her teeth as if they were fangs capable of tearing through flesh. The man merely laughed.

Guy wondered how the man could laugh at such a sight. This was the most vicious animal he had ever seen. Shy had her shoulders hunched over, her feet digging into the floor. Her hands twisted like claws against the bars. She hissed and growled, giving off the most basic of signals. _Keep away from me_. As tattered and weak as the woman was, she looked like a lion readying herself to attack her prey. The men might laugh now, thinking her spirit exciting, a thing to be broken for their amusement, but Guy pitied them if they were to get her. She would certainly murder them in their beds.

Geoffrey approached the slaves one by one, leading them from the cage by a leash of rope. Shy bucked and pulled back on the rope as she was forced out of the cage. Geoffrey cuffed her around the head, making her ears ring. "If you cost me my wages again, girl, I'll gut ya right here an' now," he whispered into her ear.

Shy's fight lessened. It was probably a bluff. Women sold for a far better price than men did, but she had already proved that she was not an easy sale. Geoffrey was not a patient man. If she made things difficult for him again, she could not rule out that he would not kill her to spare himself the trouble.

"Gentlemen," Geoffrey announced, "Feel free to examine the wares. Be assured each one is in good condition and in health."

One man approached Shy, giving her a brief examination before turning to Geoffrey, "This one's a bit skinny."

"Easy enough to fix, sir," Geoffrey laughed. "But this one can keep a good house as well as have the stamina for other activities."

The man did not seem particularly impressed, "Can't exactly tell if she's pretty can you?" He brushed a few flakes of mud and grime which constantly obscured Shy's face and body.

"Pretty?" Geoffrey laughed, "Once this girl's cleaned up nice an' proper she's the prettiest thing you'll ever lay eyes on. Go on, give the man a smile."

Shy remained glaring fire and brimstone at the indecisive man. Geoffrey hit her over the head again, "Smile," he ordered.

Shy curved her lips into a grin. Geoffrey laughed, "Girl's a mute, and as brainless as a post. She understands a few words, sir, enough to be of use. A decent home is almost charity for a wretch like her."

The man gave her a final look before nodding, "She seems amiable enough. And silence is good in a woman. How much are you asking for her."

"Fifty pounds."

"Fifty? I wouldn't pay over thirty for this skin and bones."

"What say I lower the price to forty?"

"What say you lower it to thirty-five and then we'll have a deal."

"A bargain," Geoffrey said with a smile as he shook the man's hand and was given his thirty-five pounds. "An' a pleasure, sir."

The man tugged on the rope about her wrists. Shy could feel a mixture of despair and relief enter her. At last she was free of the road and of Geoffrey, but this man did not seem like an idiot. She would have to plan out her escape quickly and efficiently if she wanted to get away from him before the week was out. Shy turned back to see Guy looking at her. He was next to be sold. She wished him luck with his endeavor to free himself.

Guy did not have the luxury of time anymore. He looked down at his bound hands, his wrists were tied in such a way that he did still have movement in them, if he coordinated them the right way. He looked over at Geoffrey. There was a knife sheathed on the man's belt. The other men were probably armed, but he doubted any of these men were trained soldiers. They looked rich, chances are they were also unable to defend themselves or do any amount of labor for themselves as they were willing to spend the money on a slave. The archway led out into a back alley, but that alley way would led out into a main street. If he could get through the ally in time he would be able to become lost in the crowd.

Seizing his opportunity, Guy threw his arms up and over Geoffrey to encircle his neck. He threw the man into the cart. Dazed, Geoffrey was unable to stop Guy from snatching the knife from his belt. Guy kicked out at the man closest to him, forcing him to ground. Guy turned the knife towards his wrists and sliced through the rope binding him.

It was total chaos. One of the men tried to stop Guy from freeing the other slaves. Guy stabbed the man in the shoulder. He fell back with a cry, blood pouring from between his fingers as he tried to staunch the wound. A few fled the scene, not wanting to get involved. Guy approached the other slaves and cut their bonds, "You're free," he said hurriedly, "Run towards the alley, get into the street, they won't be able to track you there."

Shouting words of thanks, the other slaves ran from the market, taking out a few of the buyers as they went. Shy turned around at the sound of the chaos behind her. Her new owner took her by the shoulder, forcing her into a run. Guy was faster. He chased them down. He managed to stun Shy's owner with a blow from the blunt end of the knife. Guy cut through the ropes holding Shy. "You're free," he said.

Shy stared up at him and then back to her hands which were now released from the rope. She stood back in awe of the situation, before her attention was returned to the men and Geoffrey who were recovering. "Run!" She cried, grabbing his hand and pulling him along with her towards the alleyway.

The wind howled in their ears as they tore up past the under arch of the bridge and into the narrow ally. The heated shouts and curses from Geoffrey could be heard behind them, Shy even recognized the voice of the man who had so recently purchased her. Triumphant laughter stole through her as she ran. This was freedom! Even if she was caught by the slavers again in the next few minutes, for now she was free!

* * *

**A/N: Yes, it's a cliffhanger. The first of many. XD Hope you are enjoying this story so far. Lots more is still to come! **


	5. False Pretense

V

False Pretense

Shy felt her legs buckling beneath her. Exhaustion had been fast in coming; she did not have the strength or the endurance to continue running for very long. Guy kept pulling her upright, forcing her to keep moving. The street was full of people and Guy had advised that they walk at the same pace as the crowd. Shy had rejected that idea and had sped on ahead of him, leaving him behind, but it did not last. Guy came upon her, panting and leaning against a wooden post for support.

"If I can catch you so easily, you're hardly going to prove much of a challenge when Geoffrey finds us," he had said.

Shy cursed at him, but allowed him to lead her away. The sound of shouting was steadily growing in Shy's ears. She chanced a look behind her and saw a man pushing past the crowd of people. It was Geoffrey. Shy pulled against Guy, urging him to run and urging her legs to support just one final burst of energy. This was how he had caught her before, she had allowed herself to grow weak. She needed to fight past the exhaustion and ignore the burning in her lungs and limbs. Instead, she found herself being led down a side street and under the canopy of a market stall.

"What are you doing?!" She hissed at Guy, her eyes staring frantically down the main street. "We need to keep moving."

"Will you shut up?" Guy snapped, giving her a little shake.

"I will not shut up! You are going to get the both of us put back in a cage, we need to--"

Guy slapped a hand over her mouth as Geoffrey came into view. Shy struggled and let out a muffled scream as she was pulled against Guy. Guy moved out of sight, but he kept his eyes on the man. He scanned the street ahead of him and gave the side street no more than a fleeting glance before he continued moving down the street, passing the two run away slaves in the process.

Guy released Shy as soon as the danger was gone. "_What are you doing?!_" Shy accused, giving him a hard shove.

"Saving your life and mine, you stupid girl," Guy retorted. "Or did you really not notice Geoffrey walk right past us?"

"What..."

"He's gone. He's going in the wrong direction."

"So we're..."

"Safe."

Shy looked up at Guy. His blue eyes were narrowed to darkening slits. It was not anger that glared at her, merely annoyance. As Guy shifted from the wall his face grimaced in pain and he placed a hand over his chest. Shy grabbed him around the waist, "I told you you weren't well enough to fight."

"I'm fine," Guy grunted, trying to push her away.

"You tore a stitch. I need to mend it." Shy swore again under her breath. "And I can't do that here..."

Guy reached around to his belt and handed her a satchel. The leather bag was heavy in Shy's hands and it clinked with the satisfying sound of money. Shy's eyes widened at the feel of it. "Where did you get this?"

"From your unfortunate buyer," Guy tried to laugh, "I'm fairly certain he'll know it's missing by now...but the money's yours anyway..."

"Mine?" Shy opened the satchel and gave a gasp at the sight of coins. "You thief," she muttered sarcastically as she drew the strings tight, closing the bag.

"Are we really going to get into a debate on morals here and now?" Guy retorted with a small wince of pain. He pushed her arm away, not needing her support in order to walk. They moved slowly; Guy cautious of the delicate state of his wound, and Shy walking a little bit behind, wondering how long the man could go before he collapsed.

Shy's doubts were to have no validity as they continued to make their way through the crowded city streets. Guy seemed to be looking for a place in particular, but Shy could not guess where. They needed a quiet area, preferably well concealed, where she could see what damage he had done to himself. The more he kept walking the more he risked harming himself more, but this man either was incapable of feeling pain, or unwilling to, for he never paused in his steps or stopped to let a wave of pain pass over him.

It was a strange thing to be able to walk freely. Shy's wrists throbbed from where the rope had torn into her skin. Years old scars had made her wrists highly sensitive, she swore she could still feel the leash against her hands. Someone was always ahead of her, pulling on it, making her go faster or slower. Now she moved as fast as she wanted to. Her steps were her own, she decided each footprint. She continued to look back over her shoulder; however, not entirely convinced that they were safe. No one of importance or danger was ever there, just a few people, and they had no interest in her. She was truly free, the vacant stares of the people behind her caused her to smile. It was the first smile she had dared attempt since childhood.

"Here!" Guy shouted to her, waving for her to catch up.

The smile vanished, and she hurried her way over to her companion. "What is it?" she asked him. They were staring up at a modest sized building. Guy did not have the same curiosity for the place as Shy did. He held open the door for her, urging her to get inside. "An inn," he told her as he followed her, "We can stay here for the night."

The inn was full of people, some local and some travelers. The tables were full up and there was a since of joviality to the place. Laughter and words flew hot and thick through the warm air. A woman, who appeared no older than Shy, was cleaning up one of the few empty tables when she caught sight of the pair. She gave them a friendly smile, stowed her washing cloth and approached them. "Ya look like ya need a decent rest, hm? What can I do ya for?"

"We need two rooms for the night," Guy said. Shy handed him the satchel of money and he withdrew three gold crowns and handed them to the woman. She accepted them readily.

"Sorry, we're full up for the night. Got one room let though, if ya've a mind to share."

Shy was about to adamantly refuse, but Guy replied first, "We'll take it."

"Right upstairs, last room in the back," the woman said, "An' if ya need anything just let me know."

"She was rather pleasant," Shy commented as they made their way up the staircase.

"We had money to spend," Guy said, "There's a difference." Although, Shy still failed to see this difference.

***

The room was of comfortable size and Shy found it the most fascinating place in the world. She examined the chest of drawers against the walls, tapped her feet against the legs of a chair, ran to the window and peered down below; she did not like the bars on the window and she recoiled the moment she noticed their presence. She did not go over to that window again. Shy regarded Guy almost as a dull surprise after her examination of the room was completed. She had him sit on the edge of the bed. He did not have to be told to remove his shirt. Shy knelt before him, her fingers running over the rough stitches. Only two had been torn loose, but no serious damage had occurred from it.

Shy ripped at her tattered dress and was about to wipe away the blood welling around the wound when Guy stopped her, "You don't have to do that," he said, indicating the pitiful excuse of the rag and of her clothes.

"If you want me to see where to put the stitches back, you will need me to do this," Shy snorted, struggling to get her arm out of his grasp. She wished he would not keep doing that to her.

"Go downstairs. Ask for water and for a cloth."

"They'll give it to me?" Shy asked.

Guy nodded. Reluctantly, Shy rose and left the rag upon the bed as she tentatively left the room to seek out proper supplies. Guy picked up the grimy rag, disgusting filth not fit for the most loathsome of animals. If Shy continued to use her rags for other chores very soon she would lack clothing altogether. God only knew how long she had been kept in those tatters.

Shy returned, balancing a pitcher of water, a bowl, and a cloth. She looked immensely pleased with herself as she set the supplies down and began her work again. She poured the water from the pitcher into the bowl and dabbed the cloth into her. Guy winced as the water seeped into the wound and stun the torn flesh. The pain was over in a minute as Shy pushed the torn stitches back through the wound. "I will have to take those out soon," she said.

"You?" Guy asked, "I thought after all of this you wanted me to leave you alone."

"Yes..." Shy stuttered, cursing herself for being caught in a word trap, "I meant...someone will have to remove those stitches for you—What are you doing?" She asked as Guy put back on his black, linen shirt and headed for the door.

"I'm going to get water drawn to fill a bath," he explained, "just because we were slaves does not mean we have to continue to look and smell like them."

***

Shy was never going to get out of the water again. Nothing had ever felt this good in the whole of her life. She sunk down low in the bath, letting the water rise up to just below her eyes. She blew out a string of bubbles before completely submerging herself. She was perfectly aware that Guy was just on the other side of the screen, already dressing himself, but somehow his presence did not bother her. Nothing could bother her at the moment.

Years of dirt and grime came away as she scrubbed at her skin. The pink of it startled her almost and she had to restrain herself from laughing with sheer delight at feeling the smoothness of skin which had been lost to sight from her. Her hair was a tangled mess of darkened weeds, but she hacked at it with her fingers, letting matted strands fall carelessly. Sometime while she was bathing herself she swore she heard Guy leave, but she thought nothing of it.

Eventually, she rose from the tub and reached for one of the cloth towels that had been lying on the floor. She wrapped it about herself and parted the screen, stepping out into the center of the room. The wooden floorboards felt wondrous against her bare feet. She performed a small twirling dance. Her recently cleaned and detangled hair swishing about her head.

A door opened and Shy gave a small yelp of shock. She clutched the sheet about her naked body as Guy walked into the room. Guy froze at the sight of her. This pale white doll could not be the same woman he had known? Her thin body seemed doubly tiny and fragile without its usual layer of dirt shielding it. Her skin was white save for where whip lashes and other scars had marred her. He could see them crest over the hill of her shoulders, when she turned, even slightly, he could seed that her back was a network of broken skin. The sight was an outrage when compared to the smoothness of her still untarnished flesh. Her face was sharp and angular, with a small nose, and high cheekbones. Her raven hair fell to just past her shoulders and it parted oddly to the side with the aid of the widow's peak upon her forehead. It was only her eyes which were recognizable, the tempest tossed gray was doubly clear against her clean skin. Guy briefly recalled what Geoffrey had said she would clean up as...pretty, the prettiest thing one would ever lay eyes on. Pretty was far from the word he would use to describe the image before him. Predatory seemed the more accurate word.

"What's all that, then?" Shy asked him as the moment of silences and stares gave her a sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach. She tugged ever upwards on the towel about her.

Guy shook his head, "Sorry...ah...I..." he had forgotten the bundle he had been carrying. He displayed everything upon the bed. "These are for you."

Shy walked over to examine the items. A deep blue linen dress lay splayed out for her to see. She touched the fabric lightly, almost not believing it was real. "It's a dress," Guy said hurriedly, "You couldn't continue to go around in the rags you were wearing. And this," he touched a thin white cloth beneath the dress, "this is a shift, you wear it under the dress. And these are shoes..."

"This is for me?" Shy clarified, feeing her tongue grow heavy like a block of lead in her mouth.

"You'll need them."

She looked up at Guy, gray eyes flashing dangerously, "What do you want?"

"Nothing."

"Then why give me all of this?"

"I told you, you'll need them...and the money was yours anyway."

"No," Shy shook her head, backing away from the clothes, "I won't accept this."

"Oh? So I suppose you like wearing a towel then?" Guy retorted.

"If I take this, you will want something in return for it," Shy said.

"I do not want anything," Guy said, doing his level best to keep a reign on his temper. "The clothes are for you. Wear them or don't."

Shy looked down at the dress and the shoes. She had never worn real clothes before. She was given that tattered dress years ago and it had already been in poor condition. The blue dress felt soft against her fingers. The whisper of the fabric was a temptation she was sorely wanting to fall into. Shy looked over at Guy. She knew better that to accept offers from men, even those as seemingly honorable as he was. Yet he seemed aloof and detached from any of her emotions. Behind those volatile blue eyes was a void she was slowly learning to recognize. He had a dead man's stare. She recalled how he had screamed and cried for a woman named Marian while he had been in a fever. Yes...she must have died, that was what had made him so furious when she had mentioned her name. Perhaps he truly did not want anything from her.

"Turn away," Shy said with a hint of a snarl in her voice as she clutched at the dress and the shift.

Guy smirked as she turned his back on her, waiting for her to dress. The fabric rustled as Shy pulled first the thin shift over her head and then the dress, which was by far more complicated than the shift. She chuckled emotionlessly as she noted how the semi-long sleeves hung loose over her bony arms. "It's too big," she said.

Guy took that as a cue for him to turn around, it was true, the dress did look slightly large on her. "You'll fill into it," he said with a smirk. "You can start now."

"Are you saying," Shy asked, her voice laced with biting sarcasm, "that not only have I received a bath and clothes, but I am to get a decent meal as well?"

"Don't tell me you take issue with eating too?" Guy spat back.

She seemed to appreciate his sense of humor, "I believe I've been in a perpetual state of hunger since the day I was born, on this I say lead the way."

"At last we seem to have found something we agree on."

Shy grinned, but it did not reach her eyes, just as Guy's smirk seemed false upon his face. Shy recognized this game of words. They would snap and growl at one another and smile in humor. The sarcasm a perfect shield to hide their true selves in. She appreciated it, and was almost grateful to be able to hide behind her words. This man was certainly interesting and she had the suspicion he was far from simple. Still, she had seen how he had looked at her when he had first entered the room. It was a look she had seen countless times before. For now, he could appear as a friend, and the pretense was all well and good, but the moment that pretense was dropped she would be long gone. So she continued smiling, for now.

* * *

**A/N: Wrote this chapter on the flight back to Boson. :) Just want to give you all a heads up. I am starting my spring semester in a few days and I won't be able to update as fast as usual, especially due to my internship. Of course, I will do my best to update in a timely fashion as I always do, but there might be a few delays here and there. Hope you are enjoying the story! And I will update when I can. **


	6. The Arrangement

VI

The Arrangement

Shy approached her food as a wolf stalks its prey. She sat slightly hunched in her chair as she stared at the plate before her, eyeing it and assessing if its contents were real. She hefted the warm bread in her hands, weighing it. The meat was next to undergo her close scrutiny. She prodded at it, scanning it to make sure it was not spoiled. The tankard of ale beside the plate was not spared her examination. She tilted the tankard towards her, feeling the liquid slosh around as she peered inside.

Guy watched Shy with intense fascination. Shy broke off a piece of the bread. She was hesitant upon putting in her mouth, but once she began to chew and she realized the food was far from spoiled she tore into her meal with the fervor of a wild animal. Half a loaf of the bread was gone in an instant. She ripped into the meat with her hands, tearing at it viciously with her teeth. She drank down the tankard of ale, guzzling it with enough energy to drain an entire river.

"You're going to make yourself sick," Guy warned her. He did not grab her arm to stop her from grabbing at the food, half thinking she would bite at him if he disturbed her. Her eyes were swirling pools, hardly human at the moment.

She did not heed his words at all and proceeded to eat her fill, only stopping at last when her rabid hunger had been sated. Shy sat back in her chair, a satisfied grin on her pale face. Her eyes drifted towards the small kerchief on the table top. She grabbed at it and unfolded it, meticulously spreading out all four corners. Each piece of uneaten food was placed onto the kerchief. Shy constantly shifted the food around in order to leave as much room as possible for more.

At this Guy did stop her. He reached across the table for her arm, but Shy had seen his hand out of the corner of her eye and she snapped upright and pulled away instinctively. She stared at him with those wary, storm-filled eyes. They shifted and darted about; the eyes of a predatory hawk, while at the same time, the eyes of a terrified doe. Guy did not attempt to grab her. He merely pressed his hand, palm outward, into the air before retracting it, now he had her attention. "You don't have to do that."

"You think I'm going to be able to find food like this again so easily?" Shy chided as she continued folding up the kerchief. "I need to save what I can."

"No, you don't," Guy said, "There is still some money left over, enough to buy you plenty of supplies. You won't starve."

Shy merely shook her head, tucking the corners of the kerchief into each other and tying it up. Guy let her keep the meager left overs. She kept the kerchief with her for as long as they sat at the table, her hand always near it, guarding it from sight whenever someone passed them by. She stared at the other guests like they were scavengers hoping to take her kill from her. Guy recognized that look, much to his discomfort.

The memory of starvation was one he had attempted to suppress throughout the years, but it was a vivid and stabbing force. He had been much older when he and his sister had been forced into the world alone. He had been able to bear the hardships much better than his younger sibling. The recollection of begging for shillings or scraps of food stung at his mind. The resentment still clung to him after all this time. He could remember how his sister would cry herself to sleep from hunger on some nights, while he had had to ignore his own hunger in order to see that she was properly fed first.

When they had first been taken in by his mother's relatives in France, a real meal had seemed about as tangible as myth. He and his sister ate what they could and hoarded the rest, keeping scraps of food tied up in kerchiefs and hidden under floorboards. It had taken him years to understand that food would no longer be scarce and rare to come by, but a regular everyday occurrence.

Watching Shy guard her pathetic kerchief of scraps now was a dull reminder of his former life. He want to pull it out of her grasp and throw it away, force her to realize she was not going to suffer such a cruelty again. She should not be so stubborn and so afraid as to refuse his advice.

"I'm tired," Shy said, evidence of such exhaustion swirling in her eyes. She was so like a young child, head drooping towards her breast, eyelids heavy and in danger of closing entirely.

Guy rose from his chair and led Shy back towards their room. Shy roused herself for a moment in order to scan the room for a secret place to hide her stash of food. Guy told her he did not plan on taking what was hers, but the look she shot at him told him quite plainly she did not believe him for a second.

The corner of the room farthest from the window served as a suitable enough place. One of the floorboards was crooked and the kerchief easily slid in between the cracks. Shy sat upon the edge of the bed, her hands on either side of her. She leaned backwards, bouncing a little as she enjoyed the feel of the bed. She looked about her and back up at Guy a few times before all motion ceased and her stares widened. Immediately she sprang from the bed and backed away towards the chair in the farthest corner, where she settled herself upon it like a bird on a nest.

"You can have the bed," Guy grunted, hardly interested in getting into an argument about sleeping arrangements. He would be fine enough in the chair or on the floor, he had slept in far worse conditions.

"No," Shy said very plainly, as casually as if refusing an offer of some triviality.

"I won't touch you."

His bluntness caused Shy to flinch involuntarily and draw her arms up about herself. "No..." she said again, but the breath of a whisper was now in her words.

"Clearly, you'd rather spend all night in an uncomfortable chair than take the bed. Far be it for me to convince you of anything," Guy said, throwing up his arms in defeat. He tried to call her bluff by sitting upon the bed. He removed his boots slowly, watching her out of the corner of his eye, but Shy had yet to move. He laid down and stretched himself out, still waiting to elicit a reaction from the woman, but there would be none.

Shy proceeded to snuggle against the unyielding wood of the chair, looking for all the world, completely content. She gave a sigh as she closed her eyes. Guy sat up, staring at her. She had not refused him out of some petulant need to resist him or defy any order he gave her. He leaned back against the pillows, his head against the board behind him. Guy could imagine that the only time she had been on a bed, or shared a room with a man was when she was being abused. Circumstances being as they had been, the chair must have looked far more appealing and safe than the warmth of the bed. She did indeed look happy, curled up awkwardly upon the wooden chair. Poor waif, what was going to become of her now? Hadn't she mentioned she had a family? Perhaps that was where she was bound for. That was well and good, at least she had a home she could return to. A pang of jealousy raced through Guy's heart at the thought of a home and a family. There was, of course, nothing stopping him from returning to Nottingham. He was not entirely without family, either. He still had his brother, but if Archer had stayed in Nottingham was unknown and highly doubtful. The man was a reckless spirit, far too much like his half brother Robin than Guy, but, perhaps he had managed to learn a little responsibility and take over Robin's cause. Guy smirked, how odd that he should believe Robin's works to be meaningful, or mature. He had always considered that outlaw to be a source of insolence of order, upsetting the balance of all that comprised of his world. He still could not understand how Robin could have thrown away his title and lands so easily. Robin could never understand their importance, he had ever had to fight his entire life just to claim what was rightfully his. Robin looked upon his own class with disdain; Guy could not fathom it. Being a noble was an honor not a curse, but Robin's ideals had always been radical. At least, they had finally agreed to disagree with one another.

If Robin could see him now, helping a poor waif of a slave woman for no reason other than the sense of injustice, he would laugh at him. This charity work was Robin's forte, not his own. Clearly the woman wanted nothing to do with him. Guy could not help, but imagine how Shy would have reacted to the all-noble and generous Robin Hood. She would have slapped him the face rather than accept his terms of aid. That one certainly carried herself with all the pride of a noblewoman, Guy thought, amused. He had not realized he had been staring at Shy's sleeping form while his thoughts had whirled about in his tired brain. And he did not notice when his eyes finally closed and sleep overcame him.

Guy could have sworn he had only shut his eyes for a mere moment when a loud thunderclap roused him from his slumber. He sprang awake, sitting bolt upright in the bed. A storm clattered against the bars of the window and rain howled outside. The room lit up with the blue snap of a lightening bolt.

"Shy?" Guy called? He had not seen her sleeping form in the chair when the room had become illuminated.

A roll of thunder rumbled through the air, growling with the ferocity of a lion. "Shy?" Guy called again. The drums of thunder came to a crashing crescendo seconds before another bolt of lightening crackled into existence. This time it was accompanied by a yelping harmony. It had come from underneath him.

Guy leaned over the edge of the bed, raising the skirts of the sheets. He leaned over to see Shy cowering under the bed, hands over her ears. She was lying in the fetal position, legs curled up against her chest, back curled forward for her chest to meet her knees. Guy knelt down on the floor, calling her name. Finally, she moved her hands away from her ears and looked up at him.

"Come on out," Guy said.

Shy shook her head stubbornly. "I'm not coming out till it's as quiet and dark out there as it is down here."

"That might not be for quite some time," Guy pointed out.

"I don't care, and don't you dare lecture me on the fact that I don't have to hide under beds anymore during thunderstorms. I'll hide where I like, whether it's in a pile of hay in a stable, or under a bed in an inn. Just you leave me alone."

"I wasn't going to lecture you on anything," Guy said, "do whatever you want."

"I'll thank you to remember that the next time you decide to order me to do or think anything else."

"Shame on me, for believing you would want to be shown how a free person behaves in the world," Guy let the words roll from his tongue like the thunder through the clouds.

Shy scrambled for him, crawling her way out from under the bed. "I _am_ a free person!" She declared loudly as stood up to face him. Guy stared up at her from his seat on the bed, listening with rapt attention to her angered rant: "I was born a free person and I damn well know what it means to behave as such. Just because I was bound in chains for years does not erase that fact. Don't you dare think to treat me like some child of the street because someone was foolish enough to call me a slave!"

Lightening streaked through the room, igniting in Shy's storm driven eyes. "I apologize," Guy said, but he was far from sorry for hearing such a statement. "You seem a capable enough woman to me. Now would you like to resume hiding under the bed?"

Shy blanched as she realized she had crawled out from under her hiding place. Guy chuckled as she froze in fear for a moment before decided he had irritated her enough for one night. "Here," he said, getting up off the bed, "take it...that's not an order."

"I do not understand," Shy said. "What is it that you want from me?"

"I told you, nothing," Guy said calmly, "I am not bargaining with you, nor am I seeking to force you into a trap."

"No one does anything out of kindness, especially a man," Shy snarled, the lion rising out of her voice again.

"I never said I was kind," Guy retorted. "In fact, Shy, I am the most heartless of men. I have been using you from the start. If you were not so skilled in medicine as you were I would have abandoned you to the slave owners long ago, as it is, I intend to keep you around until my wound heals and I no longer require your assistance."

Shy sent her fist crashing towards him, but Guy caught the blow with his hand. Shy swung out at him with her other arm, but that too was stopped. She was brought face to face with him. She glared right into his eyes without fear, her teeth bared into fangs, "You think this is a joke?" she spat. "I could kill you here and now."

"First rule of survival, Shy: never make a threat you do not intend to carry out," Guy grunted, swinging her down onto the bed, pining her against the mattress and the pillows. "You are not the first to suffer misfortune and injustice, Shy, don't wear it like a badge of honor."

Shy stared up at him, her body ridged. "Let me go..." she said.

Guy had wrestled her into a most vulnerable position. He held her arms high over her head, and he bore down on her, his body inches from her own, his legs on either side of her, successfully trapping her beneath him. Guy did not let her go. He remained holding her fast against the bed, challenging the irrational fear in the woman's eyes, knowing that this was not the true strength of the lioness he had just seen fight him.

"Let me go..." Shy whimpered again, her wrists twisting as she tried to force his arms away form her. He usually let go once he realized his mistake in frightening her. Why was he not releasing her now? Had she gone too far? Was he going to take his revenge on her for disturbing him? This thought sent her into a bought of hysterics. She tried to kick him away with her legs, but he would not move. Shy could only guess when he would make his first move to violate her. Her whole body trembled as she stared into his eyes. She shook and shivered and pleaded for a few minutes, trying to elicit some response from the man.

At last she quieted, and the panic left her. She lay back subdued and resigned to whatever punishment he had for her. She lowered her eyes and hung her head passively, showing him that she would be silent and that she would good as long as he did not beat her. It was then Guy released her arms. He placed a finger under her chin and tilted her head up so that she could look him in the eye again. "I will not hurt you," he said and then he pulled himself away from her and the bed.

Shy was left alone to regain her breath. What manner of man was he? She sat up slowly, rubbing her wrists absentmindedly. She watched as he took a seat in the chair in the far corner of the room. He sat down without so much as a word, but Shy could tell he was staring at her. Even in the dark of the room she could see his vicious blue eyes glaring at her, daring her to challenge him a second time.

Shy lay back against the bed, through with fighting for one night. The storm continued to rage away outside, but the lightening still sparked the air. She could feel the thin hairs along her arm bristle at the static. Triumphant was not the emotion she was searching for. It was hard to determine who had won the fight. Guy had certainly managed to gain the upper hand, but he had relented and let her be. So...had she bested him, or had he defeated her? She did not like the uncertain winner and it aggravated her.

She buried her head against the pillows, hoping to ignore her resentment and let it slide off of her like rain. When sleep finally did come she hardly noticed its arrival.

***

There was no sun that morning. The day was gray with clouds and fog. Shy awoke with her head buried in one of the pillows. With a lazy arm she pulled the pillow out from under her head as she sat up. She tossed the pillow away from her, watching it fall onto the very edge of the bed. The sheets about her were crumpled and had been pulled every which way. Shy raised a hand to her head, her hair was a ruffled mess. She tried to tame it as she blinked and bit back a yawn. She was still tired, but she had never slept so comfortably before in all her life.

"Good you're awake." The dark voice startled her, and Shy turned her head to see Guy standing by the window.

"Is it still morning?" Shy asked, surprised at the raspy tone in her voice. She rubbed at her eyes as she slid her legs off of the bed, pushing herself into a standing position.

"As far as I can tell," Guy said, "I thought I would at least wait for you to wake before leaving."

"Leaving?" Shy repeated dumbly.

"Yes. Why so surprised, Shy? I thought you would be overjoyed to see me gone."

"I—where are you going to go?" Shy asked.

"Nottingham," Guy answered.

"Is that your home?"

"I do not have a home," His anger roared forth with far greater energy than he had anticipated. He noted the shocked expression upon Shy's face, cleared his throat, shook his head by way of apology, and explained, "but I do have a brother."

"That is good," Shy said. "You must miss him."

"That is hardly the word I would use for it. We do not know each other well, but I have a responsibility towards him. I owe him the courtesy of telling him I am alive at least," he chuckled a little at his own joke. Archer would laugh outright in his face if he thought his brother needed looking after like some child. Still, he was family...and that could never be ignored.

Shy nodded, her face a blank. "I wanted to apologize," she said suddenly, "for my behavior last night."

Guy shook his head, "You were frightened. I am not your friend or your confidant, I do not require an apology."

"I think that you do," Shy said softly, "You have done nothing but help me and I have treated you horribly. I am sorry for that."

"You treated me the way you would have treated anyway. I won't accept your apology," Guy said stubbornly. "At any rate, I am leaving, you will not have to deal with me any longer."

"Wait!" Shy cried, whirling about as Guy headed for the door. He paused and turned back to look at her, and eyebrow raised in question. Shy fumbled for speech for a moment, "Nottingham...it's not that far a distance from Rotherham...I—I was thinking, what if we traveled together?"

"And why would you want to do something like that? Had a change of heart about people have you?"

"No. You are a fighter. I saw how you handled the slave owners. I could use that. After all I am a woman, and a woman traveling alone is not exactly in the best position to defend herself."

"Don't be so modest," Guy smirked, "You're not what I would call the defenseless type. Besides, what would I get out of this?"

"Decent company," Shy answered with a smirk of her own, "Oh, I promise to be civil to you from here on out."

"You wish for me to protect you and all I am to receive from this is a promise of civility?"

"Mercenary," Shy said, "you can take the rest of the money if you like."

"Keep your money," Guy said, "If you can make yourself ready in under an hour you can come with me, but only--"

"I am ready to leave now," Shy said, grabbing her shoes and slipping them on her feet. She tied the purse of money about the belt of her dress. Her hands went to smoothing out wrinkles in her dress as she waited for Guy to respond to her. She could see a dull haze of amusement in his eyes as he beheld her haughty form. She stared back, waiting to see when he would open the door for them to leave. She hoped she had made the right decision in journeying with this man, for that dark look in his blue eyes still unnerved her to her core.

Guy opened the door and gestured for her to step through with a mock bow of courtesy. Shy grinned at him in her wolfish way. Guy smirked, beginning to take a liking to that violent smile, "Lead the way...my lady."

* * *

**A/N: Sorry for the wait, everyone. Hopefully it was worth it. :) **

**Keep your eye out for more updates soon. I'll try and get the next chapter up as soon as I possibly can!  
**


	7. The MasterAtArms

VII

The Master-At-Arms

The clutter of the city left Shy with the distinct feeling that she was no bigger than a mouse in a cage. The constant stream of people originally fascinated her, but fascination swiftly turned into annoyance. She tolerated the occasionally push or shove from some passerby, but after a time she began to beat back.

Guy caught her arm as Shy raised it to bring her fist down on one young man's shoulder. He hissed in her ear as he led her away, "You can not swipe at the first man who causes you grievance."

"Why not?" Shy asked, tugging her arm free of his grip, "He was the one who was careless enough to hit me."

"The streets here are narrow and there is little enough room to walk. It was an accident. Move on."

"No one hits me and gets away with it," Shy said with a sullen pout, her lip curling in contempt, like a child unable to understand why she can not have her way.

"Not everyone uses violence for every action," Guy explained, inwardly laughing at himself for hearing those words come from his lips.

"Yes they do."

He expected such an answer from her, "Have I, then?" He challenged.

"Yes you have," and, grinning, Shy pulled the collar of her dress down only an inch to reveal the fading bruises from where Guy had attempted to strangle her in the throes of his madness.

Guy raised Shy's collar swiftly, eyes averted back to the road before them. Shy bit her lip as she fell back into step alongside him. The silence continued to gnaw at her until she could no longer contain herself, "I have forgiven you, you know." Silence still from her companion.

"Oh, all right, fine. You're right. Not everyone uses violent means for everything. There. I've said; I've said your right. That's what you wanted wasn't it?"

Shy reached for his arm, startling herself by touching him. He looked down at her hand upon the sleeve of his tunic. "You can't carry that much guilt for so little an incident. I forgave you for it and I have practically forgotten it. Do the same. Please."

"Shy..." Guy placed a hand over her own. Shy gave a small, involuntary smile at the sound of her name on his lips. She tensed, waiting for him to answer her... "You're not going soft on me, are you?" Guy said with a smirk as he casually removed her hand from his arm.

Shy felt the wind get knocked from her lungs by the callous gesture. Her cheeks flushed scarlet and she had the desire to smack the sickening grin from off his face. "Say I'm going soft one more time and I'll give you such a beating..."

"Ah, you promised to be civil," Guy reminded her.

"I'm a child of the streets," Shy said with an innocent wave of her hand, "we don't know how to keep our promises."

Shy heard Guy laugh quietly at her words and she smiled. Maybe this man was a bit different then others she had encountered. This one, she decided, she could handle for a time. She might even grow to like his company, if such a thing were possible for her.

Shy let her arm swing down at her side, she kept clenching and unclenching the hand that he had touched. Yes, she thought, he was tolerable.

***

The woman who walked beside him out in the open road, away from the city, was not the same woman he had become used to. This woman ran, shouted, and spun while fire blazed through the clouds of gray in her eyes. This woman had legs which were used to running and found it to be a gift from God. This woman climbed trees like a wild creature and leapt down from high branches just to feel the impact of the ground shock her legs. This woman was hardly a woman; with her hair covered in leaves and twigs and her hands grappling with the earth, this was a nymph; the human body only an illusion. If he waited long enough he'd see her blend in completely with the forest, her body grow into roots and leaves and twigs and branches. Every breath which hurled forth from her lungs seemed to exhale freedom. She was breathing liberation while the dirt from the ground covered the scars of chains on her wrists.

Guy walked on in amazement at this dancing, whirling, creature who seemed never to tire. "Do you plan on running all the way back to Rotherham?"

"I very well might," Shy panted, walking backwards so that she might face Guy while maintaing her lead. She took great delight in the look of displeasure upon his face. That scowl was a permanent line across his face and she was becoming increasingly amused by it, especially when, very rarely, it broke into one of his reluctant and coy smirks.

She turned her back on him, throwing her hands up into the air in a gesture mistaken for exasperation, but secretly one of exultation, "It's beautiful!" She said. "For as long as I live I will never go into a city again."

"Don't say that, people might get the feeling you dislike them."

"They'd be wrong...I secretly _hate_ the lot of them," Shy laughed, turning towards Guy, "Even you, so don't get the idea you're so special."

Her spiked words seemed smoother to the ear than usual, than they were when she was still confined to the city. Guy was beginning to understand that Shy's hatred of people was the least personal emotion she could feel towards them. He found he could respect that very much.

They went on walking, with very little conversation between them, until nightfall. They set up camp off of the main road. Guy managed to get a small fire going and Shy rationed out their meager supplies of food. After they had finished eating, Shy leaned back against the trunk of a tree.

Stars played before her vision, each time she blinked they seemed to flicker in and out of the gaps between the dark leaves. She smiled, titling her head back at an angle as if she could soak up the stars' light and warmth as she would the sun. She raised her arm and pointed towards one of the brighter stars in her line of sight. "North Star," she said, letting the weight in her arm grow slack and fall back down by her side. "You find that and you'll always know where you are. Can't get lost."

"Lady Thea teach you that?" Guy asked her, a low rumble of reluctant amusement in his voice.

"No," Shy hunkered down against the trunk, wanting the rough bark to yield to softness against her. "My father did."

The dull hit of silence did not deter her from explaining herself to her companion. His lack of questions made it easier for her to speak, "The night before he sold me to Lord Foster he told me how to find the North Star. Think he hoped I'd be able to find my way home eventually. Tried it a few times, but it's useless, only shows you were you are not were to go."

"And here I was beginning to believe you knew of some secret way of getting to Rotherham faster than I did," Guy said, catching Shy's gray eyes in the fire glow. To his relief, they were dancing with humor, not malice.

Shy chuckled, folding her arms over her stomach, "Imagine we're a good ways off yet. Don't get me wrong. I'm not impatient. I've waited years to go back, I can stand a journey of a few weeks."

"Imagine your father'll be pleased to see you." It was impossible for Shy to tell if Guy was being sarcastic. She glanced over at him, holding his gaze for a moment before slouching back to stare at the forest ahead of her.

"Yeah, well _pleased_ or not I'm coming home," she resisted the urge to look over at him a second time, "Suppose your brother'll be pleased to see you again too."

Guy laughed, "Perhaps, I don't intend to stay in Nottingham long enough to find out fully."

"Why not?"

"No reason to stay."

"But you have a family that's...that's _every_ reason to stay!" Shy turned over fully, legs pulling up against her abdomen as she twisted over onto her side. Her eyes were wide in the fire, casting storms of orange and red in the gray.

"You mistake me. I do not have a family. My brother and I never even knew the other existed until..." Guy stopped, pulling back from the argument before he revealed to much to the woman. Shy was not fooled by the sudden silence, but she let it go, knowing from experience what would happen to her if she pestered him further on affairs he was reluctant to speak about.

Shy uncurled her legs, stretching out in one burst of an arch before she curled up again. "So," the syllable was a peace offering, "where will you go?"

"I have not given that any thought," came the petulant response.

Shy shrugged, "You could always stay in Rotherham."

Guy smirked, "Going to miss me when I've gone?"

The blush was not visible in the glow of the fire. Shy turned over once again, her back to the snickering man, "Only in your deluded dreams."

***

The next few days found the traveling, and often times argumentative, pair making good time on route to Rotherham. Although, traveling on foot did not make for a fast pace. Shy did not seem to mind, only furthering Guy's opinion that she had meant what she had said, she was not impatient. She had more energy than he could have fathomed, rising each morning with the same tenacity as she had the previous ones.

The sighting of a building with the swinging wooden sign of an ale-house provided a welcome rest, their supplies of food having run out the night before. Shy did not think long about their good fortune. After paying for food and drink, Shy laid the small purse atop the table. It was tipped over casually causing one lone coin to roll about in a lazy half spiral.

"Going to have to resort to other means to get food soon," Shy remarked with only the slightest sound of regret. She stuffed the coin back into the purse quick as a flash.

"You struck me as a woman who would abhor stealing," Guy said.

Shy merely grinned, "You forget how we came upon this little treasure."

He had, indeed, momentarily forgotten. "Point well taken."

As they ate, Guy mused on their current situation. He pulled aside one of the serving maids, "How far to the nearest town?" They wouldn't have much luck fending for themselves if they took to avoiding all signs of civilization. At least in a town, even a smaller one, they could have better luck stealing supplies or coin.

"That'd be Hanwell, not far from here, reckon a half a' day's walk or thereabouts," the serving girl replied.

That would do. He thanked the girl and sent her on her way again. "We should get going," Guy grunted, eager to be on their way.

"I'm still eating," Shy retorted between mouthfuls.

"If I let you carry on like that you'll never stop."

"I'm making up for the difference," Shy tore off a piece of bread, "Just because you haven't starved for half of your life doesn't mean you get to take food away from the rest of the hungry."

Guy leaned back in his chair, resigning himself to wait. An amused expression played about his face at Shy's comment. The woman spoke as if she were an expert on the subject of starvation and want. She did not know she sat across from the man who held equal knowledge on the matter. Guy knew Shy had stopped eating and was now currently testing his level of patience, but he would not rise to her challenge. His limits for her games were endless and he enjoyed the look of frustration when she realized her attempts to goad him into a temper had failed.

Shy's eyes narrowed and her lips curved into a thin sneer. Finally she sighed, leaning back in her chair as well, "Are we just going to sit here then? Let's go, I'd like to reach home while I still live and breathe!"

Guy let her get up first and leave the tavern. He followed her close behind, watching the skirt of her dress stir up dust as she walked with forceful purpose up the road leading to Hanwell. Eventually, Shy turned her head to look back at him. It was then Guy chose to walk by her side, learning from past experience never to sneak up on her, and never to walk with her unless she had signaled his presence was welcome.

The peaceful silence was rent by an earsplitting roar from up the road. Shy and Guy only paused momentarily in shock before racing off to find the source of the scream. It was most certainly that of a man in trouble, but of an angered and wrathful trouble. Coming to a bend in the road, the pair saw one man fending off a band of four highwaymen. One of the highwaymen had a hand about the reigns of a horse and was trying to lead it off of the road, while his three comrades did battle with their victim. The victim himself was dusted with a light coat of dirt, having fallen from the horse in the ambush. He was holding his own against the three, but he was woefully outnumbered.

Thinking fast Guy grabbed Shy's arm and slapped a hand over her mouth to still her scream of panic and outrage and his sudden touch. He dragged her out of the road and deposited her in the safety of the underbrush. "Stay here," he whispered.

"I can take care of myself!"

"You brought me along with you to protect you. Now, stay here and _keep quiet!_" Guy said, his breath leaving him in a rush of anger. Shy must have seen how serious he had taken her need to be protected and promptly shut her mouth.

Guy ran silently over to the skirmish, and, coming up behind one of the distracted bandits, slammed a punch to the side of the man's head. He slid to the ground without a word. A lull arose in the fray as both the robbers and the soldierly looking man paused to take in the accompanying fighter. Guy snatched up the fallen man's weapon, a short sword before the bandits could think to rush him.

The victim in all of this let out a raucous laugh, fueled by the energy of the fight. "You, sir, have the most impeccable timing."

"Thank me later," Guy said as he blocked a blow from one of the men.

Seeing the odds were more in his favor, the man went to the highwaymen with a vengeance. Guy was in the business of discovering any of the men's purpose. He disarmed the highwayman and slew him without further thought or effort. Guy's companion merely stunned the other with a blow from the hilt of his sword. Both turned towards the unfortunate fourth robber. He released the reigns of the horse immediately, holding his hands up in front of his face in submission. He backed away before turning and running down the road.

"Didn't have to kill him," the man sniffed as he sheathed his weapon.

"Would have rather I let him kill you?" Guy asked as he examined his newfound weapon.

The man gave a slight nod of his head, conceding to this stranger's logic. He held out his hand, "Sir Gavin of Warwick, at your service. Whom do I owe the pleasure of my life?"

For a moment Guy questioned whether he should reveal his name to the man, not knowing if he was trustworthy or not, or if he even knew the full measure of what his name brought. Seeing the friendly spark in Gavin's laughing brown eyes, Guy concluded he did not have much to fear from this man. "Sir Guy of Gisborne," he did not take the fellow knight's hand.

The small twitch at the corner of Gavin's lips betrayed that he did know the extent of his reputation. The hand was retracted quickly as Shy raced out from the forest, holding a stick that was more of a club. She stopped dead in her tracks, realizing the battle was already fought and won. She dropped the club, "All right here?" she asked, her question directed to Guy.

"Fine, Shy, this is--"

"Sir Gavin of Warwick, my lady," Gavin bowed.

Shy pulled back as he made a move to walk towards her. "You were robbed?" she asked, her voice aloof.

"Aye, but luckily not permanently thanks to your arrival."

If only Robin could see him now. Guy sidestepped around Gavin, letting Shy walk close behind him, sensing her wariness towards this new man. "We do not have time to linger over formalities, we need to be on our way."

"Wait!" Gavin said, snatching his horse's reigns and following them, "Where are you bound for? Perhaps we are going in the same direction?"

"Rotherham," Shy snapped, "And we do not need to be followed."

"To Rotherham....on foot, and no supplies that I can see?" Gavin said, astonished. "When do you expect to make it there? Sometime in the next season?"

Shy did not respond to Gavin's joke, she merely kept her eyes towards the road ahead of her.

"Let me offer you supplies and transport to Rotherham," Gavin said.

"Where will you come up with such generous offers?" Guy replied with a twinge of a derisive laugh.

"When my lord Waleran de Beamont hears of how you saved his Master-at-Arms' life _he_ will most assuredly reward you."

That received Guy's attention at least. Shy; however, was less impressed. "We do not require any help."

"Please, I insist...you must let me do something to repay my debt," Gavin appealed.

"Warwick is out of our way," Shy said, her eyes boring holes through the man.

"By a day at most!" Gavin laughed at the challenging nature of the woman, "Sir Guy, reason with this harsh mistress of yours."

"With a pair of decent horses we would make better time to your home," Guy suggested.

"You want to trust this stranger?" Shy snapped.

"I mean you no harm, I assure you," Gavin smiled with what he thought was his best charming feature. It withered at the sight of Shy's calculating stare.

She pursed her lips as she thought over the many possibilities presented to her, "You could get us supplies?"

"Enough for the remainder of your journey."

"And horses?"

"I will speak to my lord on the matter. I do not doubt he will give you what you request."

"Then we will go with you."

"You are a sharp woman, Lady..."

"Shy."

"Shy?" Gavin chuckled, "You most certainly do not live up to your namesake, my Lady Shy."

"I am _not_ your Lady."

Gavin mounted his horse, but kept pace with his two new found traveling companions. He winked jovially down at Guy, "Quite the formidable force you have there. Is the lady always so delightful?" He ignored the furious huff from the woman in question.

"No. You've caught her on one of her better days," Guy shrugged at Shy as she glared at him for daring to say his little joke.

"Forgive me," he whispered to her a moment later, "I did not realize you would be so offended."

He was surprised by the bared animosity she showed him as she hissed low at him, "And I did not realize you were a knight. So we have both been misled."

"I...I did not think it mattered..."

"I find myself saddled with two strangers now. I take back what I said before, when we get to Rotherham you would do well to leave, I will want nothing more to do with you." Shy walked a pace ahead of him, her every movement an act of restrained violence.

Guy walked slowly behind her, not certain if what he felt was angered confusion at her words or quiet regret that they had been said at all. What did it matter? She was an unpredictable, half-crazed woman. He would be glad to be rid of her.

* * *

**A/N: Aaaaaand the plot thickens? Of course there's a reason why Shy's so uppity about learning about the fact that Guy's a knight. You'll find out later....:) I do love my cliffhangers. **

**Also, Waleran de Beamont is not fictional, but I am using him for fictional purposes. Partially the reason why it has been taking so long to update this story is because I've had to take a break and do a little research about him. Hopefully you all are still invested in this story!  
**


	8. Warwick

VIII

Warwick

"A slave?"

"Yes."

"Surely not! Has the kingdom run itself mad?"

Gavin's appalled look did not draw out any familiar emotions from Guy. The two men walked side by side. The Master-At-Arms, holding onto the reigns of his horse, while the knight carried on at a measurable stride. The woman in question was careful to keep herself behind the two. She had refused to walk with them, and she wanted them always in her sight. This left the two men to their own quiet conversations.

"And you are seeing her back safely to her father in Rotherham?" Gavin asked again, processing the full story. When Guy only nodded, Gavin could not help put let out a surprised laugh, "You will forgive me, Sir Guy, but...I would never have taken you to be of the kind—from what I have heard of you...your reputation seems unfounded."

"Be assured my reputation was earned," Guy said, his anger evening out to a steady simmer. "I am not looking after the girl for any amount of charity." He realized the double meaning in his words too late.

"Sir, if your intentions towards this woman are less than honorable, I--"

"No! No!" He said vehemently, "I want _nothing_ from her. Nothing." He saw Gavin's hand retract from his sword hilt, but the tension did not dissipate. Guy felt the need to further explain himself, "She asked me for protection, and at this rate, she will owe me a tidy sum of money when we reach our destination."

Gavin did not berate him for taking money from a poor girl. Guy would not have cared if he had. He could withstand any amount of slander to his already mud-coated reputation. After all, he had been a mercenary for the better half of his life. But there was one name he would not see added to his: rapist. For all of his questionable affairs he had never taken a woman by force. The idea brought a shiver of disgust.

He look to his side, surprised to suddenly see Shy walking near him again. He found himself staring without meaning to. This skin and bones girl was impossible strong, walking on legs that seemed hardly able to support her. The dress clung loosely to her body, occasionally slipping on her shoulder to reveal the upper portion of past scars. Guy's eyes swerved from the sight, but Shy was quick to pull the sleeve back up to its proper place.

"Do we intend to crawl all the way there?" She drawled, "At this rate we won't make it to Warwick within the next month let alone ever get to Rotherham."

The outburst startled them both. She had not spoken a word for the better half of the day. Gavin bowed his head, "You are quite right," he said with an obliging manner. He picked up the pace to a brisk, almost militant march. "Let us see if you can keep pace with this, my lady."

Shy snorted in a very un-lady like fashion, "Let us see if I cannot."

But of course she wouldn't be able to for very long. Her little body barely had the strength to walk for long distances without tiring. She overtaxed herself. It was a wonder she was still capable of standing.

Guy placed a hand over his chest; come to think of it, it was a wonder he, too was able to having carried on for as long as he had.

"Your wound?" Shy asked him.

"What of it?" Guy quickly removed his hand from over his chest.

"It pains you doesn't it?"

"It is bearable."

"Stop." Shy called out with a bored sigh. Once the little company had halted Shy pointed to Guy, "Sit." She directed him off of the road and against the trunk of a tree.

"Why?" Guy asked, but followed her orders anyway.

"Because," Shy snapped as she gave him a rough shove against the tree, "I do not require all of my work to be undone in a moment of stubbornness. Now please," she smiled with false sweetness as Guy sat down, "let me tend to you."

No more the budding friend, the serpent had shown her poisoned fangs once more. Shy removed his coat and raised his tunic, examining the wound. She pursed her lips, "Inflamed, nothing serious. I will need some wa--" but Gavin was standing beside her, already handing her his water flask.

"Thank you," Shy said with a wary glance as she accepted the flask.

Shy placed the flask upon the ground and brought her hand down towards the skirt of her blue dress. "Don't," Guy growled.

"It is only a dress; a piece of cloth," Shy retorted. "Or would you rather I let you suffer and infect that wound because you wouldn't let me clean it for fear of ruining my dress?"

In one quick stroke, Guy tore a thin strip off of his tunic, tossing it to her. "Here."

Shy accepted it, muttering her condemnation as she poured the cool water over the black cloth and then brought it to bear against the inflamed skin. Guy hissed as soon as the wet cloth made contact with the wound. "Oh, hush," Shy snapped. "Men, the smallest of cuts and you wail like babies."

Gavin let out a low whistle as he moved to stand behind Shy to better see the line of stitches which would eventually outline the scar that would appear. "How, sir, are you still living?"

"Just an illusion," Guy said with a smirk.

"Well it will be if you don't start telling me when it starts to hurt again," Shy said as she patted the cloth around the wound. "And you, _sir_," she turned around to glare at Gavin, "stand where I can see you." She could not have sounded more menacing than if she had had a knife to his throat. Gavin raised both hands and walked back so that he was standing beside her and in her line of vision.

Shy finished cleaning the wound and judged Guy fit to carry on. She did not wait for him to rise as she made her way back onto the main road, nor did she speak once they were underway again. She expected Guy to resume his place with Gavin up in front, and it was only to her furthered annoyance that he chose to walk beside her for a moment.

He was silent, but calculating. Shy could feel it in his drifting gaze as he looked from her to the road and back again. He was choosing his words carefully wasn't he? "If I have said anything to..."

"You haven't."

"Done anything, then, that might have offended you..."

"Nothing in the slightest."

"Then why..."

"It is your mere presence. Your mere status. There is nothing you can do about it, so please let's just leave it be. I will continue to treat your wound, you will continue to give me protection. I shall get to Rotherham and we will part ways. That is the end of it."

Guy could not understand this woman. One minute she was beginning to show signs of friendship, the next she was back to threats and sharp words. "Please leave me to walk on my own," Shy said, raising her head high and keeping her eyes on the road before her.

Guy was about to do as she requested when he was stopped by another command, "And," she pointed at him, "_Stay_ where I can see you."

It had been said in the same tone she had used with Gavin, but unlike him, Guy could see the abject fear radiating from Shy's eyes, not menace or wrathfulness. Guessing at the reasons for her fears, Guy knew better than to argue. He merely nodded and returned to walking ahead of her. He could feel her cold stare penetrate into the back of his skull.

***

Shy stared up at the high walls which surrounded Warwick. The cold stone stared back at her. The gates were steadily being raised at a command from Gavin. She could see the two men raising the gates from atop the wall. As the iron gate was lifted from the ground Shy took a step back, watching Gavin and Guy move to enter.

Guy turned, realizing that they were missing one of their party. "Shy?" He called out to the stricken woman.

Shy shook her head, still staring upwards at the gray walls. "I'll not go in there."

"Don't be ridiculous. You have to." Guy gestured for her to walk towards him.

"No..." Shy said, "No, if I go in there I won't come out."

Guy took her arm with patient gentleness, seeing that he would have to force her to walk forward. Far from calming her, his advances seemed to make her more wild. "I don't want to go in there!" Shy shouted, trying to pull away, "They won't let me out! Their not going to let me out! I want to go home! Let me go. I can't...I can't! Please don't let me go in there. Please..."

Guy bundled the hyperventilating woman in his arms, shaking her. "No one will keep you here. I promise you will get out. Shy? Shy, look at me. I promise you will get out."

Shy's eyes widened for a moment at the conviction in Guy's tone, before the panic faded from her. She slumped forward against him. Guy thought she had begun to cry, but soon discovered she was only trying to catch her breath. He released her from his hold before she could regain her senses entirely and demand that he let her go.

"What are we still standing here for?" She croaked out. "Let's go."

Guy followed behind her, not daring to think to help her or appear to coddle her further. Shy caught up with Gavin, who was waiting from them by the gates, she gestured for him to lead the way. He did so upon her request, but not before nodding over to Guy as if to tell him that he had handled that situation with utmost care.

For once, Shy did not seem to mind that one of the men was out of her sight. She glanced around the city, observing the people with a scrutiny of a hawk. Guy watched her as she constantly swerved her head from the left to the right, allowing nothing to escape her sight. Her hands were clenched and pressed against her chest, she started at each noise, eyes widening whenever she heard something akin to the scrape of chains or the cracking of a whip.

Gavin led them up to Warwick Castle and another pair of gates and walls.

"The last time I was brought into a Castle I was never let out," Shy said to Guy as they were led into the courtyard. She stared behind her as the gates were shut, the light in her eyes dimming.

"I have not promised you anything I could not do. Trust me," Guy said.

Shy smiled without humor, "I wish that I could."

"You did before," Guy said in a hushed tone, not wanting Gavin to overhear, even thought it was inevitable that he would be listening, "please do so again."

"That was before I knew what you were."

"That should make no difference!"

"Well, it does."

"Why?" Guy asked her.

Shy did not answer him. She merely spend up her pace as she crossed the courtyard leading to the inner buildings. Guy's temper spiked, but he held his silence. Shy had dropped all pretense of spite or anger, what he saw before him was no more emotion than she was willing to give him. Why should a rank and a title, one that meant nothing to him anymore, determine her distrust of him? Did his knighthood remind her of Lord Foster? Impossible, he mused, Foster was not a knight. Perhaps she was merely playing this game with him to torment him. He did away with that thought, the woman had far more pressing demons to contend with than to spend all her free moments concocting ways to rile his temper.

They entered the main stronghold and Guy was at once reminded of the halls of Nottingham Castle. The array of armed guards were numerous. Guy eyed them with a mark of suspicion. There were far too many soldiers about for just an ordinary drill. Was something being held here?

They were stopped for a moment as Gavin addressed one of the soldiers, "Captain," he said, "where is my lord? Is he in the Castle?"

"Aye, Sir," the Captain stated, "been in his private quarters most of the day."

"Go on ahead and announce us, I need to speak to him about an urgent matter."

The Captain nodded once and turned to go down the hall. Once the man had left, Gavin seemed to take note of Shy's agitated state, "Don't you worry," he whispered to her, "No one is going to harm you here. The soldiers are for your protection only."

"If I had a gold crown for every time I heard that, Sir Gavin, I would be a rich woman indeed," Shy replied. "No, the sooner I am gone from this place the better I will be."

The Captain returned momentarily to lead them to the lord of the Castle's chambers. It was a quite study, uncluttered by papers, with only a few simple wooden chairs, a table and a small fireplace. The Lord of the Castle was already prepared for their arrival.

"Gavin," he said as his Master-At-Arms bowed to him, "What news from London."

"None that is good, my lord, at any rate," Gavin sighed, "The Prince will not be able to send any forces out."

Lord Waleran swore under his breath. "And that is all we are to expect?"

"I am afraid so, my lord."

Waleran was far from pleased to hear this news. When he had recomposed himself he fully noticed the presence of his two guests, "And who, pray tell, are your companions, Gavin?"

"Ah, my lord, let me introduce to you my saviors. While I was heading back from London I was ambushed by a band of highwaymen. Thankfully, these two happened to be passing by and they disposed of them. This is Sir Guy of Gisborne, and Shy of Rotherham."

Shy noted that Lord Waleran seemed taken aback at the introduction. "But you are supposed to be dead," he stated. "You and Sheriff Vaysey. It was said you both died in the collapse of Nottingham Castle."

"My lord, I owe my life to this woman here," he gestured to Shy, "if she were not so capable a healer, I would most certainly be dead."

"Well, at any rate you have my gratitude for saving the life of my faithful servant and friend," Waleran nodded to Gavin. "If there is ever something I might be able to do for you in future--"

"There is something, my lord," Shy said, unable to remain silent any longer. "Sir Guy and I are traveling to Rotherham, anything you could give us by way of supplies to speed our journey would be most appreciated."

"It is done. As soon as I deem you fit to leave I shall speed you on your way."

"I'm afraid I don't understand, my lord," Shy said.

"You find me at a most trying time. There are many unsavory characters about of late that would be more than happy to see me falter in my security and take what is rightfully mine. I can not let you leave immediately. I am sure your friend, Sir Guy will understand this necessary measure? I must be sure you are not spies for my enemies, nor could I very well let you leave given the state of affairs. Rest assured, I do not mean to detain you for longer than is absolutely necessary; two weeks at most--"

"Two weeks!"

Guy clamped a hand about Shy's arm, giving her a swift tug to silence her outburst. "The woman speaks out of turn," he said giving her a hard glare of silence, "I thank you, my lord, we intend to prove that we are of honorable nature." He tried not to smirk as those words left him. Honorable nature, indeed.

"Gavin, see that suitable quarters are arranged for our guests stay," Waleran ordered, "When you have attended to that I will require your council."

"Yes, my lord," Gavin bowed and led the two companions out of the study.

As soon as the doors were shut, Shy could not contain her outrage a second longer. She pushed at Guy as he tried to speed her along the corridor. "_You promised me I would get out!_"

"And I intend to keep that promise. It is only a slight delay." Guy tried to quiet her, but Shy would not be silenced.

"No. We are going to be kept here. We are no better than prisoners! Or _slaves!_"

"Hardly," Gavin could not help but interfere, "You know not of what you comment on, Shy, and I am not at liberty to speak of such things with you until my lord trusts you better. It has nothing to do with you, but believe me when I tell you he is right to keep you here. You are safer than you know. Waleran has his enemies."

"And you _knew_ we would be kept here?! You should not have brought us here!" Shy accused.

"I knew you would be here for a week at most! A week of shelter and rest. You will be given your supplies soon enough and sent on your way as soon as it is deemed safe. I will vouch for your character. Until then, stay as my lord's guest. You will not be considered prisoners or slaves while I am here."

"I do not trust that!"

"I knew you would not. Perhaps such words will provide more of a comfort when spoken again by my wife."

"You are married?" Shy asked

"Yes, and I'm sure my lady will be more than pleased to meet the both of you."

Shy swallowed her rising impatience and paranoia, weighing her options as she was led down strange halls. "I will meet her." She decided, realizing she did not have many other choices provided to her in this new prison.

* * *

**A/N: Oh there is so much still to come. Who exactly are Waleran's enemies? Why does Shy have such a distrust of knights? And more importantly will Guy and Shy be able to reconcile their differences? *Cue dramatic music* :) As always, drop me review and let me know what you all think so far!  
**


	9. Impostors

IX

Impostors

Gavin only needed to knock but once upon the door before it was opened. Gavin laughed and scooped the woman who had opened the door, up in his arms. "You were not gone for nearly as much time as I had thought," she said once she was placed once again upon her feet.

"You desired me to be kept away for longer than was necessary?" Gavin was rewarded for his teasing with a light punch to his chest.

The woman raised herself onto the tips of her feet to give her husband a kiss, but she stopped as soon as she realized that they were not entirely alone. "Adela, allow me to introduce my friends, Shy of Rotherham and Sir Guy of Gisborne. They are our guests."

"You mean Lord Waleran does not want them out of his sight until he decides they are not a threat to him," Adela replied, coming out of the shadow of her husband to greet the pair. "It is a pleasure to meet you."

"There is quite the story that accompanies them, why don't we go inside. Allow me to recount my adventures to you," Gavin suggested.

"Adventures sounds too close to trouble to me," Adela teased.

Once inside the chamber, Gavin related the whole of his travels back to Warwick to his wife, who sat and listened with great attentiveness. While Adela watched her husband, Shy watched Adela. She did not give the slightest of starts upon hearing of the way in which they had found Gavin; obviously a woman on her guard lest she expose herself to a stranger's judgement. Adela interrupted only once, in a desire to find out what Prince John had had to say of Gavin's visit and request for aid. Even then she portrayed outward stoicism at the response. Shy noted how her hands were clasped tightly in her lap and at how white the knuckles were. So she was anxious. Her eyes did not flicker from her husband's face, but she sat as straight as a ram rod and her breathing was steady, almost too steady. Shy dropped her gaze, gleaning all she needed to know from the woman.

"Well," Adela said at the end, "at least you are home safely. Thank you," she said to Shy and Guy, "for seeing that he was returned to me."

Guy seemed uncomfortable with the praise. Shy only shrugged, tired of thanks with no reward.

"I hope you will not be too inconvenienced by Lord Waleran's orders," Adela added.

Shy could not have prevented the snort of contempt. "Shy, here, does not believe Waleran to have the best intentions at heart," Gavin translated.

"I do not believe any man has good intentions at heart," Shy retorted, "especially when I am being held captive for no reason." Guy kicked at the leg of her chair, not using enough force to topple her, but enough to start her into silence. She glared over at him, her hand bunched into a fist that grasped at retaliation.

"Enough!" Gavin said, his exclamation enough to still Shy from lashing out. "If you insist on sparking violence until you get your way, you don't leave me much choice. Do not inform my lord of what I am about to tell you. He had his reasons for keeping his silence."

Shy lowered her arm and sat back in her chair. "By all means, enlighten me." The cold, gray eyes stormed over. The explanation had better be satisfactory.

"Lord Waleran's brother, the former Earl, was killed in the Holy Land, his body was never recovered. A few years back, after my lord had ascended to his brother's position, a challenger appeared. He calls himself William and proclaims he is my lord's brother come back from Crusade, but he is no such thing," Gavin spat, "No doubt a common knight or landless noble seizing upon an opportunity. He gives us no peace, instigating suspicion and doubt among the people. He has his own following. That was why I went to London to speak to the Prince, we can not keep fending this imposter off forever."

"Unfortunate," Shy said, "but I fail to see what this has to do with me."

"Forgive my idiot companion," Guy said, "I realize, if she does not, why Waleran can not afford to give us leave to go."

"He can not imagine us to be a threat!" Shy retorted, not at all happy to have been challenged again.

"I assure you he does not," Adela could not help, but come to the defense. "This is a matter of security. Not for us, but for you as well. You are not here indefinitely."

Much to everyone's surprise, Shy did not pick an argument with the woman. She sat, deflated, in her chair, arms crossed, but eyes still storming with anger. Gavin cleared his throat, "If you like, I'll have a guard show you to your quarters now."

"You might as well." Shy rose to her feet without invitation. She gave a curt bow to Adela, her eyes not rising to meet her's. "My lady." Then, she left, following Guy and Gavin out of the room.

After seeing the two guests into the service of one of the castle guards, Gavin returned to his chambers. Adela had an unreadable expression upon her face, "Certainly a very interesting pair. Wherever did you find such a sullen man and such a wild woman?"

"Circumstance," Gavin replied, taking his wife in his arms, "but don't judge them too harshly."

"Why should I judge what my eyes have already given me proof of?" Adela said.

"If Shy conducts herself as a wild one it is because she must. Let us leave it at that for now, I would not speak of such horrible things."

"You are quick to come to the woman's defense," Adela remarked. "Should I be jealous?"

Gavin laughed. "My lady, permit me to give you adequate time to show you that such jealousy would hardly be warranted."

***

Shy did not linger long in her chamber. Suffocating in the walled room, she had to escape. She took the Castle gardens, the small dense square of green providing her with room to breath. She could still the battlements surrounding the Castle, but outside the immediate reality of her imprisonment was lessened.

She took refuge under a young tree, growing at the edge of the garden. She nestled against the trunk, delighting in the feel of the rough bark against her back. The wind blew past her, rustling her hair along with the branches and leaves. She curled up, drawing her knees to her chest as she rested her head against a large, protruding root. She could hear the gentle creak of the boughs above her and she felt as children feel when rocked to peaceful rest in the arms of a loving mother.

"What are you doing out here?"

Guy's voice shattered all hope for peace. Shy uncurled in an instant and sat upright, staring at her intruder with wide eyes. Taking in the sight of his familiar form she relaxed. "I was trying to sleep," she muttered.

"Under a tree? I would have thought you grateful for a bed."

"I never asked for the bed—anyway what are _you_ doing out here?" Shy spat, not taking kindly to Guy's steady approach.

"Couldn't sleep," he answered honestly as he sat down beside her.

Shy squirmed over to the crooked root and as far and away from Guy as she could force herself to go. "Well, go find your own solitude. I never asked you to join me."

"Shy, was I mistaken in believing we were almost friends once?" Guy asked her. He did not look over at her, he kept his eyes to the front, staring up at the wall-tops.

Shy looked over at him. "You were. _Highly_ mistaken. I do not have friends. I do not desire friends. Why must you constantly pester me over such things?"

"Because you promised me civility."

"I promised that to a nameless man who had aided my escape. Not a knight, and certainly not a noble."

"My name does not change who I am."

"It does for me."

"Why?"

"Will you stop asking me why?! It is not for you to know!" Shy shouted. The wind blew stronger, carrying her voice. Guy winced at the shrill sound.

"Who do I have to tell your secrets to, Shy?" Guy told her, his voice soft in comparison to her blade-like tones.

Shy huffed in frustrated silence and turned her gaze back to the battlements, letting her black hair be battered about in the wind. She saw Guy steal a glance at her from the corner of her eye; saw the hopelessness there at his pathetic attempts to reach out to her. What did he want from her?

Guy sighed, resigned to Shy's silence. He hauled himself to his feet, ready to do as she had asked of him and leave her to her sleep.

"Brennan." Shy said, her face carved out of stone. Her mouth a thinly etched line. Guy turned. Shy repeated herself, "Brennan. His name was Brennan."

Slowly, Guy returned to the tree and sat down beside the ashen faced woman. Shy would not look at him still, her gray eyes now stared at nothing, the storms within them settling to a mist of multiple emotions, none readable and all struggling for dominance. Guy sat in silence, neither prompting her to explain, or providing her with more questions to answer. A name alone was further than he had expected to receive from the troubled woman.

"Sir Brennan was a captain in Lord Foster's service. He...was not like the other guards. When he first arrived at the manor I did not know what to—he was kind to me. He saw how I was...he came to me and brought me food, spoke to me. One time he even gave me a salve for my bruises." The smile that appeared on Shy's lips was a brand of shame and it was quickly wiped from existence.

"He said he would free me. He promised me everyday. But...he, he came to me one night...and...he proved what my freedom would cost." Shy's voice grew harsh, and the storms quickly rose in her eyes, "He _begged_ me. He said the strangest of things...I...I screamed and he ran." She would not continue.

"Shy, I would _never..._"

"And you," Shy turned to him, "say the same things he did. Asking for friendship, begging to help me! You don't want to help me!"

"At least trust that I have no desire to hurt you," Guy said. He waited for her answer patiently. He could see the struggle going on inside of her. This Brennan had damaged her far worse than Lord Foster ever had.

"How can I do that?" Shy said softly.

"I have committed crimes, Shy," this admission piqued the woman's interest. Guy saw it in her eyes, "I have done terrible things in my lifetime, unspeakable acts. I have murdered countless people; men...women. Does that not frighten you?"

"Why would you tell me this?" Shy's voice shook only slightly, but it was not fear in her eyes only shock.

"Because, for all of these crimes the only one not staining my name is that of rapist."

"You think," Shy said after a moment of silence, "that I will now take the word of a murderer?"

"What reason would I have for lying now after telling you everything."

"What murderer would ask for friendship so forcefully?" Shy countered.

"You do not believe a person can change?"

"No."

"That he can have two sides to himself?"

"Absolutely not."

"Then start." Guy's fervent statement caused Shy to jump in her seat. She had never seen such honest conviction in a man's gaze before. The honesty held no duplicity, only anger and a desire to see her beliefs altered.

"I think you should go now," Shy said, trying to avoid answering him.

Guy sighed against her perpetual distrust and fear. Before he could leave, Shy placed a hand upon his arm, "But...thank you..."

She did not have to explain herself further. Guy placed a hand over hers gently and then brushed it aside as he rose to his feet. "Good night, Shy," he said with a formal cadence.

"Good night." She watched him as he left the gardens, no doubt to return to his room and ponder over all that she had told him and all that he had revealed to her.

A murderer? So that was what he hid behind such sad blue eyes. But was that all there was? She could not help but imagine there to be something further to his admission of his past crimes. It was far too simple. He did not strike her as a common killer. True, he had dispatched of the slavers with simple and remorseless ease...but he was a knight, it stood to reason he knew how to kill a man. He had always been gentle with her, though, even though his voice and demeanor had been rough. What if he was telling her the truth?

She curled up again, feeling her stomach tie into knots as she wrestled with conflicting feelings. Trust in Guy could mean finding a protector and friend, or another abuser; a clever and far more dangerous abuser than she had ever met. He looked at her with desire, but not in the way she was used to. It was as if he was pleading for something far different than pure flesh. What did he want with her? More than that, Shy thought as she closed her eyes, what did she want with him?

* * *

**A/N: Apologies for how short this chapter is, I promise longer ones in the future. :) Hope you are all continuing to enjoy this story. Drop me a review to let me know what you think! Summer is rapidly approaching so my stories will start to be updated faster! **


	10. The Slave's Tutor

X

The Slave's Tutor

Shy awoke the following morning under the shade of the tree. She stretched luxuriously, as if rising from a feather bed. The kinks in her spine were eased away as she arched her back with a tired yawn. Shy gave the trunk of the tree a loving pat, as if to thank it for providing her with such a pleasant place to sleep.

When she at last turned her head to face forwards she noticed she was under astute observation by a pair of guards, obviously passing by on patrol. They were younger, only sixteen or seventeen judging by their awkward stance, and wide, staring eyes. One was a freckle faced, fair-haired youth who blinked upon seeing her conscious face. Shy blinked back in silence. How long had they been standing around watching her sleep?

"Who are you?" The fair-haired boy asked, apparently not having been given notice as to her presence in the Castle.

"Better question," Shy said, rising to her feet and wiping the dirt from the skirt of her dress, "who are you and why are you spying on me?"

"Not spyin'," the other boy, a green-eyed, chestnut-haired lad with a fidgety glance said.

"Then you'd best clear off and let me pass," Shy replied.

"Not before you tell us what you been doing out here."

"My business is my own," Shy said crossly. "Don't have to tell you if I don't want to." It had only taken her a second to assess the situation. The two young guards posed no threat to her. It was evident they did not desire her harm, and were really only doing what anyone ought to do when confronted with a stranger woman found on the grounds unsupervised. They seemed pleasantly stupid enough to toy with.

Shy gave them a flashing smile as she moved out of their way. The two men drew their swords and moved to block her. The smile vanished and Shy raised her arms. "Now surely there is no reason to draw steel against a helpless woman?"

They fidgeted, "Well...ya should tell us your name an' how you came t' be out here."

"My name is Shy. I am a friend of Sir Gavin's." The word 'friend' came out with a bitter bite. She licked her lips as if to wash the taste of the word away. She crossed her arms. These two were spoiling a perfectly decent morning.

"Can Sir Gavin verify a statement like that?"

"Why, yes, as a matter of fact he can," Shy retorted with toxic sarcasm. Her tongue hissing from her mouth like the forked one of a serpent. "Why don't you go fetch him. I'll wait here."

"Oh, no, don't think so," the freckle-faced guard said. "Probably run off just as soon as we turn our backs. You're to come with us."

Such serious lads. Shy blew a strand of hair out of her eyes; no concept of a good joke, that was ever a soldiers problem. "Fine then," she consented. "But put up your swords. I'm no prisoner of war here."

The guards complied, taking her by the arm and leading her out of the gardens and back into the Castle halls. "Mind not holding my arm so tight?" Shy asked one of the lads, her gray eyes sparkling with lightening anger. "Bound to go numb if you keep gripping it like a vice." She spoke as if she wished her words could conjure all manner of weapons which she could use to cut down these two oafs.

They came to Sir Gavin's chambers and the guard knocked upon the wooden door. It was answered by the Lady Adela. She looked shocked to see Shy being handled so roughly. Shy merely grinned. "Good morning, my lady. It seems there's been a bit of a debate as to my identity. Please, confirm to these kind gentlemen that I do in fact know your husband and also, be certain to ask them to release me. My arm is going numb."

One of the guards coughed, not too pleased to have been handling such a suspicious woman, nor overly joyed at having been interrupted. "Beg pardon, Lady Adela. We found her in the garden asleep and wondered as t' her meaning. She claims t' be in Sir Gavin's charge?"

Adela nodded, "She has told you the truth. You may release her. My husband is with Lord Waleran at the moment. I will take responsibility for the woman."

The guards did as their Lady commanded. Shy brushed down her dress for the second time that morning. She gave Adela another cheeky grin, but it was quickly wiped from her face as she was grabbed and brought inside the Lady's chambers.

"Lady Shy--"

"Not a Lady," Shy grumbled.

"Shy, then, my husband claims that you assisted him during a most troublesome event. He has told me you are a sensible and intelligent woman, but all I have seen are the most dreadful displays of impropriety and wildness."

"The guards were fools. I was only having a joke."

"You are a guest here. I would expect you to understand how to conduct yourself."

"My lady," Shy sighed, her tone shifting from the biting to casual to their softer formal, "I see that you mean well in chastising me, and perhaps you believe yourself to be doing me a service, but I would ask you to leave me be and to do as I will. I am a free person and I do not take orders, even if they are kindly given."

"Gavin said you had your reasons for behaving as you do," Adela said, taking a seat in her chair and gesturing for Shy to take the one opposite of her. "Would you think me impertinent in asking you to enlightening me?"

Shy stiffened, but she sat down upon the chair just the same, her hands folded in her lap. "Why would you think I would tell you anything?"

Adela smiled at Shy, and she was at once reminded of the sickly sweet grins she gave to those she secretly detested. "I am not a bored noblewoman seeking stories of tragedy or excitement to entertain my fancy. I wish to understand the woman my husband is insisting on calling his friend even though she seems to despise such a connection."

Shy eyed the Lady with a hunter's gaze and found herself being given the same stare. "No, my lady," Shy at last said, "I do not believe you are amused by me at all." The noblewoman was astute, just as she suspected.

Shy complied with Lady Adela's request and revealed to her a little of her life. Not all, but enough to satisfy her curiosity. Things that were too painful to speak of aloud she kept silent and she skirted through her memories as if she was treading on shards of glass. Adela was a keen listener. What was left unspoken was easily assumed, for Adela noted the shift in expression upon Shy's face and the small twitch of her legs when she changed the subject. Adela's hardened gaze softened as Shy concluded her little story.

"Forgive me," Adela said. "I did not know--"

Shy snorted, "Oh, I will not forgive you. I will forget you just asked me that. Not pity, please, my lady. We are both honorable and clever women. We need not resort to feminine weakness in order to deal with one another."

"You are most unusual, Shy," Adela remarked, "You were lucky to have been educated as you were by this Lady Thea."

"Hah! Luck she says, well that's something. Yes, I suppose I should be grateful for that, and I am. Lady Thea is the best person I have ever known."

Adela was astounded to hear such praise coming from the very same Lady's slave and captive. The compliment was almost compulsory, but the tone was sincere. Whatever memories Shy kept of her old mistress, she seemed to cherish in her own perverse way. It would at least, explain why she was comfortable speaking to her and not at all pleased to constantly be in the company of men. Poor thing, Adela realized Shy would not appreciate her pity or her empathy, but what must have happened to the poor girl did not really bear thinking about.

"Do you stay in the Castle all the time?" Shy asked, changing the subject, uncomfortable at being left in silence and under scrutiny.

"No. Gavin's estates are just beyond the city. I come to the Castle from time to time, but recently I have taken to staying more often than not. Ever since the threat of the imposter, I have felt safer in the Castle than in the manor-house, for all that Gavin tells me to leave," Adela smiled.

"If I had estates or lands away from a city I should never leave them," Shy said, "Don't you feel from time to time that the walls are suffocating you?"

"You are quick to judge!" Adela laughed as she rose to her feet, "You have not been in Warwick two days and already you are set upon it being akin to Hell. Come. Let me show you the grounds of your prison, my stubborn captive."

Shy smirked, "With pleasure, my lady," she curtsied with a modicum of politeness and followed Lady Adela out of her chambers.

* * *

Guy stood atop the battlements alongside Gavin as the Master-At-Arms explained some of the strategy utilized in the defense of the city and the Castle itself. "The bluff acts as it's own defense," he stated, "The height gives us the advantage. From these gates you can see anyone approaching the Castle. Makes it impossible for anyone to attack the Castle directly. Plus the lands completely flat, as you can see. No place for the rogues to hide."

"So they must attack at night?" Guy asked, "They could be waiting in the city and convene in the evening and make their way to the gates of the Castle under cover of darkness."

"And that is precisely what they do. Most of the attacks are at night, or at times when the sun is directly in the archers' eyes. The imposter's troops never were accused of being stupid," Gavin acknowledged.

"And of late?" Guy asked, "Have their been any attacks."

"No," Gavin said, his eyes narrowed and Guy was struck with the thought that this was not considered a good development. "Now, while I'd like to think that our last counter attack sent them off with their tails between their legs, I'm partial to thinking that their merely regrouping...trying to frighten us into make hasty moves."

"There's always that," Guy mused.

"You have a thought?"

"More of a poor guess than anything."

"Speak freely, my friend."

Guy turned his gaze away from the small stretch of open land and city, and back to his companion's troubled face. He leaned against the stone merlons of the battlement. "You may have a spy in the Castle."

"That's quite an accusation." Yet, Gavin did not urge Guy to discontinue his thoughts. He encouraged further explanation.

"A troop of soldiers attempting to lay siege to a Castle as heavily fortified as this one? They could only be holding a cease fire for two reasons: one, to regroup and get more supplies, or to wait for more information on their enemy. You said so yourself, you do not know all the imposter's allies. If they fight under cover of darkness you've never seen their faces. Think on it."

"You sound confident in your assumption," Gavin noted.

Guy smirked, "Like you Gavin, I was also a Master-At-Arms once, and I was up against a far more persistent and elusive enemy."

"And if the stories serve me, you were made a fool of by this enemy on multiple occasions."

Even after all the time that had passed it still rankled him to be reminded of how many times Robin Hood had managed to outsmart him. He clutched the stone behind him, forcing a half smile on his lips. "His multiple escapes only prove that I was able to catch him multiple times."

"All right, let's say I give your theory credit, and there is a spy in Warwick Castle. If I were to order you to help me flush out this spy would you be willing to lend me your obvious expert skill in hunting down rogues and outlaws?" The man was baiting him, and Guy swallowed down his pride and inability to take a harmless joke in stride.

"I would," Guy said with a nod.

"Good!" Gavin said in his cheerful manner. Guy could not understand how the man was capable of so much good nature given the circumstances, Guy's scowl deepened as Gavin grinned widened, "I will speak to Lord Waleran about giving you a squad of men to command to help oversee this project. If your guess is right, you might find yourself the hero of Warwick."

Guy could not restrain the derisive laughter which escaped him as he followed Gavin back down from the battlements. He could only imagine such heroic stories: Guy of Gisborne, the Savior of Warwick. Next thing he knew they'd start calling him Guy of Warwick—oh no that was too much, he coughed to cover up the remnant of his laughter. Somewhere in the afterlife, he wagered Robin Hood was having a grand old time with all of this.

Guy was coming to think of Robin as his own guardian, although, more of an instrument for divine punishment would be more accurate; he thought. How else should he still be alive after having suffered injuries one would think impossible? And how else should he find himself in the middle of imposters and espionage battles when all he desired was peace? Robin had once said that dying would have been relatively easy in comparison with living, and Guy could not help but still agree. Living was a punishment to be accepted and tolerated. At least he would not want for suitable occupation.

He stared down through the archways as he walked, hoping to avoid conversation with the more light-hearted Gavin. Adela and Shy were crossing the courtyard and he could see that they were having no difficulty in conversing. How on Earth had Adela managed that? She had only known Shy for less than a full day.

"They seem to be getting along, as I had hoped," Gavin said, peering through the arches as well.

Guy only grunted in response. Gavin's gaze flickered from Guy and back down to the women crossing the grounds. "Shy did seem to want for female companionship."

"She did not strike me as a woman who cared for any form of companionship," Guy snapped, tearing his gaze away and continuing to storm off down the hall.

Gavin allowed himself a private laugh over Guy's outburst. An interesting development there! He had best keep his eye on it.

As they continued their way through the halls, winding every downwards, they eventually met up with the women half way. Adela curtsied, "A good day to you, my lord husband, and you as well, Sir Guy."

Shy gave her eyes a slight roll at the formality of the greeting and did not bother with one of her own.

"My lady," Gavin said, knowing his wife's preference of acknowledgement when she was with company. "Giving our guest a tour of the Castle?" he guessed.

"Yes," Adela smiled, "we were having a most enjoyable time were we not, Shy?"

"Enlightening," Shy muttered with a smile of her own. Adela could not be sure if Shy was joking or if she was being mocked.

"But it is rather fortuitous that we have found you. I was just about to seek you out, my lord, for there is something I would speak to you about," Adela said.

"Actually, I was on my way to--"

"Never fear, my husband, I can tell you while we walk. Sir Guy will not mind staying with Shy for a bit will he?" And before Guy could object Adela answered for him, "Of course he wouldn't." Adela took her husband's arm.

Gavin sighed, seeing that there would be no changing his wife's mind, "Forgive me, Sir Guy," he said, "You see me rather caught up," he grinned. "Walk on, Adela," he said, drawing her away from the others, "Tell me what is in your thoughts."

"Nothing at all," Adela whispered to her husband as soon as they were further down the hall, "I have a bit of an experiment I should very much like to test. I'll walk with you to whatever previous appointment you had and then I shall double back to my chambers."

"Meddlesome, woman," Gavin retorted, "If this ends in disaster I'll blame you for the distress you've caused those two."

"I'm not meddling!" Adela defended herself, "I'm observing...actively."

This gentle bickering went on and while Guy could not hear exactly what was being said as they walked away, he could discern the closeness of the couple and the confidence of the matter judging at how Adela seemed to tug on her husband's arm so that she might be closer still to his side. Gavin had a stance which betrayed a slight annoyance, but revealed his pleasure at being with his wife all the same. The jealous strike which cut across Guy was unexpected. The man had no concept of the gift he had, he had no right to show annoyance at his wife's desire to be with him.

"Staring at the Lady Adela, Guy?" Shy chided, "For shame, are we not all such good friends here? Whatever are you thinking?"

Guy turned his gaze to her. "Keep your damned thoughts to yourself."

"What is wrong with everyone today?" Shy huffed, falling into step alongside the man, "I was only having a joke!"

"Wasn't funny was it?"

"Maybe you don't have as refined a sense of humor as I do," Shy retorted. "Either way," Shy said as she pushed open the door which led out into the garden, "Adela is quite pretty, it really can't be helped; your staring."

The glare Guy gave her would have frozen over fire. The look was quickly replaced with a smirk. "You know, I'm beginning to like it here," he said with a casual sigh, and idea beginning to form."Gavin has given me a temporary position among the soldiers. Perhaps I might seek to make the position permanent."

"You wouldn't dare!" Shy said, practically shrieking, "We had a deal!"

"Ah, what's the matter, Shy? Can't take a joke?"

Shy blustered about for an appropriate comeback, but she fell short. Guy noticed she was clenching and unclenching her fists. "You want to punch me don't you?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

"You do, you want to hit me. All right then, have at it." Guy stopped and stood back from her, giving her ample room to attempt a strike.

"No," Shy said, and then added, "too afraid I'll hurt you."

Guy chuckled, "Or too much of a coward used to taking her beatings in silence."

"You bastard." Shy turned on her heel and swung a punch directly at Guy's face. Guy caught her small fist in his hand and swung her forwards, over his back. Shy landed on the gravel with a heavy thud. She blinked upwards as Guy leaned over her. "What's the matter?" he sneered, "I would have thought you used to being on your back."

Shy kicked him in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him momentarily. Storms gathered in her eyes as she hauled herself upright and sought to lash out at him again. Recovering from the lucky blow, Guy blocked her two successive punches and threw her, once again, onto the ground. "Your stance is too wide," he remarked, prodding her in the side lightly with the tip of his boot. "And your punches...no control at all."

"_Why are you doing this?_" Shy hissed hellfire at him.

"Because, I was under the impression you desired a way to defend yourself," Guy said, "You think you will be gifted with those skills through God's grace?"

"What..."

"You need training," he said slowly, emphasizing each word as if she were no smarter than a toddling child.

"And that was your way of asking if I would accept your tutelage?" Shy said, gasping a bit as she took his hand as he helped her up. She dusted down her dress and brushed some of the gravel off of her reddened skin. The anger seemed far from cooled in her eyes.

Guy only shrugged. A slow smile spread across Shy's features, burning to a fine wicked point in her storm cloud eyes. "All right, I accept."

Guy smirked, but it was soon wiped from his face as Shy slapped him. "_That _was for calling me a coward." She turned and walked away from him.

Guy placed a hand over his cheek. "Meet me here tomorrow after the call for Vespers." he said. Shy did not turn around, merely waved a hand to show that she had heard him.

Guy walked away, rubbing his cheek. Not a bad hit. She certainly hadn't cried out after being thrown to the ground twice as he had expected her to do. Teaching a woman how to fight was dangerous, an offense to God's Law and Man's law, and yet it would surely be a worse crime to let such a vulnerable woman be left to the mercy of those men? Marian would condone such a thing, Guy thought. And that was the only law he need concern himself with.

* * *

**A/N: If you caught my Guy of Warwick joke good on you. :) I have lots of stuff planned for the summer, maybe even a new fic or two? Anything is possible! God I love free time!**


	11. Offer of Friendship

XI

Offer of Friendship

Shy found herself on her back for the fourth time that evening. The first few blows had not hurt as much, now she was positive she was beginning to earn bruises atop bruises. Guy helped her up. "You haven't been listening to me," Guy said.

Shy bent over, hands upon her knees and as she fought to regain her breath and her strength. "Oh? I'm sorry, one too many blows to the head will make a person forget their own name, so I'm told. Let's start over...who are you again?"

"Shy," Guy sighed. The blockheaded woman would make a formidable opponent, if she chose to ever listen to him. This was the third night of their daily lessons and Shy wasn't getting any better.

Guy forced her to stand up straight and kicked one of her legs forward. "Balance," he grunted, "Spread your weight evenly on both legs. Arms up. Protect that bloody ungrateful head of yours." He emphasized this by trying to swat at her. Shy raised her arms and fended off his light attacks. "Now, come at me again."

"Question," Shy said as she threw a punch. Guy blocked it and returned the blow. Shy raised her arm and bumped the offending fist away from the direction of her jaw. "What if someone is not coming at me with their fists alone?" She kicked him in the side, but darted away before he could take her leg and swing her off balance. "Like for instance...a sword? Or a dagger?"

"One lesson at a time," was Guy's reply. In truth he was not all that comfortable teaching a woman how to use a blade. It was awkward enough showing her how to fight with her fists and feet alone. This hadn't been the first time Shy had brought up the issue of weaponry. She seemed almost eager to try to use it herself, and it was a curiosity Guy was not going to indulge.

Shy wobbled on her feet for a moment before regaining her balance after a successful blow. "Good," Guy commented, "but..." in the process of regaining her balance, Shy had dropped her guard and let her arms down to jockey for position. Guy hit her as lightly as he could. Shy's ears still rang from the hit and she went down. "Not good enough."

Shy swore. She had tackled every challenge placed to her. When Lady Thea had first taught her how to read and write she had mastered it with relative ease. Geography, literature, history; she had learned them well, why could she not with fighting? The rules seemed simple, she thought with a mathematical and logical mind, remain standing, do not let your guard down, disarm your opponent; so why was she always the one on the ground?

Shy did not allow Guy to help her up again, frustration burning the back of her throat, stinging more than the myriad of bruises and cuts on her skin and the sore muscles in her arms and legs. "Focus," Guy snapped. "You will not have time to over analyze every situation," he came at her without warning to prove his point.

Shy dodged out of the way, pivoting to kick him with her left leg. She scored a blow to his chest, knocking him backwards. Then she charged at him, thinking to catch him off guard. She was mistaken and her charge lost her valuable footing. This time she corrected herself and forfeited her balance in order to protect herself from any oncoming blows. As she danced around her adversary she found she was able to slide her feet back into position. She decided instead of her usual forceful punches she would focus on short jabs. She was able to get in many shots this way and always dance out of his grip. Guy lunged forward and Shy ducked without thinking, punching him in the stomach and then elbowing him in the ribs. Breathless for an instant, Shy used Guy's weight against him and tripped him by kicking his legs out from under him as she had had him do to her several times before. He fell to the ground with a gasp.

Shy toward over him, a surprised, but highly pleased grin on her face. "That's a victory for me then," she crowed.

Guy hauled himself forward, punching her in the stomach. The shock of the blow caused her to crumple up beside him. "Never," he breathed, "let your guard down."

Shy was curled up in a ball, her breath coming in short gasps. She hated the blows to her stomach, the sudden lack of air hurt worse than the ringing in her ears from the blows to her head, or the throbbing pain in her ribs when he kicked her. "Are you...always this...gracious with...women?"

"This is as polite as I get," he smirked as he looked over at her. It was replaced with a frown of concern. "Shy?" He placed a hand upon her, rolling her over. "Did I hurt you?" He was rewarded for his moment of compassion with a blow to his side.

"Never let your guard down, Guy, for shame," Shy grinned with pained restraint as he was sent rolling off of her. Shy laughed, "Oh, I'm sorry," she said and truly meant it, "I couldn't help it."

"I've had worse," Guy admitted.

They remained on the ground, regaining their breath and taking stock of their injuries. Shy looked over at Guy, "You're not so bad," she said, "may have been wrong about you."

Guy said nothing. A smile tugged at the corner of Shy's lips, "Been enjoying this. Best part of my day."

"Even the bruises?" Guy asked.

Shy chuckled, "Oh, especially those. This time I earned them."

The humor faded from Guy's eyes. Shy reached out and patted his hand, "I mean it, I like going to bed and waking up sore all over knowing that I'm _fighting_. So, what I'm trying to say is...thank you."

Guy moved his hand out of the way, startled by her sudden honesty. Shy retracted her hand, confused, and a little hurt at his reaction to her words. "I..is that all for today?"

"Yes," Guy said, "yes, we're through."

Shy sat up, wincing as she did so. Guy saw her discomfort and helped her to her feet. He released her as soon as she was steady. "I will bid you a good night, Sir Guy." For the first time she said his name and rank without the usual hint of malice.

"Good night, Shy," he replied in low tones. "Tomorrow we will continue your lessons."

"My aching bones look forward to it," she said with a laugh, cracking battered knuckles. "Until tomorrow," she waved him a good-bye and set off for the furthest patch in the garden under the tree which had become her shelter.

As Guy was about to leave the relatively quiet and undisturbed space he spotted two guards winding their way through. "You there," he called out, stopping the two men. "What are you doing here?"

It was the freckle-faced young lad and his fair-haired companion. The two stood to attention, having recently been told to take orders from Guy the same as they did from Gavin. "Just making the rounds," the fair-haired man said.

"Do you always patrol the garden?" Guy asked.

"Well...we make a track about the courtyard every night an' once more at dawn."

"Names?"

"My name's Adam," the freckle-faced guard replied sharply, "An' this is Lyle." His less talkative partner gave a nod, his eyes flickering to gaze further down the garden path.

"You should be up on the battlements with the rest of the guard in case of an attack," Guy said with a grunt, "Did you not hear the order from Gavin earlier? No patrols tonight."

"Must have forgotten," Lyle muttered. "Apologies, my lord," Adam and Lyle turned to go back to their posts on the battlements.

Guy went with them, following close behind to assure himself that the were brought to their proper positions. He did not think the two guards meant any harm in cutting through the garden on their so called patrol. They wouldn't be the first in the Castle to have encountered the abrasive Shy and become curious about her. Guy saw no reason to alert Shy to the fact that she was making herself a bit of an attraction as the wild woman, she'd only think the curious stares were assaults and there was no reason to make her feel threatened when the men meant no harm. He left the men as soon as he had silenced a few of the comments on the woman in question, feeling strangely protective of her tonight.

* * *

"All is in place," Guy commented to Gavin, "The guards are all stationed on the battlements at night. Their paired off for their rounds during the day. No one is alone and no one is permitted access of the Castle halls at night."

"Good," Gavin said, "Now to see if this spy of yours tries to slip away."

"Don't forget to monitor the servants as well. None of them can be considered innocent either."

"You know I'm not sure I like all of this...paranoia," Gavin admitted, "rather have a good, clean battle than this constant suspicion."

"It takes getting used to," Guy said. "You should hope, then, that this does not last for long."

"Aye, I pray every day that the damned bastard whose causing this chaos gets himself killed." Guy could not help but laugh at Gavin's sudden dark outburst. Gavin glanced over at him, "Oh I see, you like the idea of this imposter."

"I will not say that I don't think whoever this man is to be extremely clever," Guy shrugged. "He's seen an advantage and he's taken it."

"To the disadvantage of an entire city!" Gavin exclaimed, "He's killed several good men and many an innocent has been caught in the crossfire. Now, I know you would find him admirable. You've never cared for the welfare of a city so long as you got what you wanted in the end. You falsely maintained hold of Locksley even when Robin of Locksley had returned home."

Guy lost his former good humor, "You speak out of turn, Gavin."

"Well, you speak out of a cruel heart."

"I am _helping_ you."

"While it suits you," Gavin said, "Don't think I don't suspect you would change sides in an instant if it meant you would get supplies and money faster in order to leave, and so would Shy. Lord, she'd sell both of us out for a fast enough horse!" Gavin laughed, "We are friends of convenience, Guy."

"Any friend you've had has been one of convenience," Guy said, crossing his arms, "Anyone else who has told you otherwise has been lying to you."

The bell tolled from the tower near the chapel, marking the time for evening prayer. "I must go," Guy said.

"To meet with your other friend of convenience?" Gavin raised an eyebrow.

Guy did not allow Gavin to see his frown of displeasure as he left the study. Gavin leaned back in his chair, allowing himself a quiet laugh at the sullen man's expense. Guy shut the door, hearing the man laughing from within. He rolled his eyes.

Shy was already waiting for him by the time he entered the courtyard. The bruised and already dusted over woman, gave him a wave. "I have something," she said, teetering on the heels of her feet. From behind her back she drew forth two daggers.

Guy immediately snatched them out of her hand as if just by holding them she would injure herself in some way. "Where did you get these?" he demanded of her.

"Borrowed them from the armory," Shy said with a cheeky grin, "You keep putting off teaching me how to use weapons. Thought I now was a good time for you to stop procrastinating."

"Shy these are dangerous," Guy explained.

"All the more reason you should teach me."

"Do you know you could be punished for stealing from a Castle armory?" Guy told her, "Put these back before someone notices they're missing."

"I will put them back," Shy said, "after you teach me how to use them."

"Fine," Guy relented after Shy had stared him down. There was no budging that woman once she got an idea into her head. "But only for today."

"Then," Shy straightened and fixed him with that keen, hawk-eyed glance, "I will have to be an especially attentive pupil."

Guy smirked at her eagerness, and found himself very much stuck with that half-smile expression as he went on with their lesson. After a few failed tries to throw the dagger and get it to stick in the wood of one of the posts, Shy had finally gotten the trick down and was able to score one or two hits out of every five. Shy confessed she greatly enjoyed working with the knives, versus getting pummeled to the ground every half minute. The knives were light in her hand and she liked the way they hummed as the zipped through the air. Secretly, she hoped Guy would rethink his previous decision and allow her to train with the knives more than once.

The light did not last for much longer and soon it became black as night descended over the Castle. Shy reluctantly handed over the knives. "I should have very much liked to have kept one," she sighed.

"Is it worth a spell in the stocks for stealing to you?" Guy countered, putting the knives through his belt.

"Stocks aren't so bad," Shy said as she slumped down against the tree, "Once you get over the heat or the lack of water...really; far worse punishments to be had."

"You don't have to make it into a joke," Guy said as he sat down beside her.

"No reason not to make light of the few things I can," Shy replied, hugging her knees to her chest. "Hurts less that way."

"Does it really?"

"Look, all I know is is that when I'm with you for these few hours I'm not thinking about who I am, or where I've been, or any of it."

"Shame," Guy said, clearing his throat, uncomfortable with being thought of us so valuable of a source of comfort, "that you can't behave so well with others."

"And what would Gavin or Adela know of what I've been through? Oh, they're kind enough people, I suppose, but you and me? We know what it's like to be slaves."

Guy did not see fit to remind Shy that he had only been a slave for a mere few weeks. Shy was neglecting that fact. For whatever reason she had decided that she could form a bond with him and against all odds she was convincing herself to be friends with him.

"Think we might start over?" Shy asked in a reserved tone that Guy very rarely heard.

"How do you mean?"

"I mean...back before I knew you to be a knight. We were becoming friends weren't we?" Shy finally admitted.

"Perhaps."

"And before, you offered me your friendship."

"I did." Guy looked down at her. He did not like seeing her so calm and tame. Her reserved demeanor recalled just how very fragile and vulnerable this woman was. The course of emotion did not run normally in her. She could be wild and then quiet; violent and then thoughtful. Now she stared at him with the gray eyes of a tempered sea and he found himself pulled in and out with those invisible tides. The bruises on her pale skin stood out; bruises and cuts fit for a man decorated the petite and gentle frame. He was suddenly sickened with himself.

"It is an offer I'd like to accept."

"Well...I am glad of that."

Shy's gaze darkened for a moment, still unsteady with him, having had her trust broken once before. Guy found that having tamed this skittish creature he no longer wished he had. He remained sitting under the tree with her, lost in his own thoughts. Shy talked for a while, in quiet tones, but before too long all words ceased. Guy did not think much of it, he was staring up at the night sky, and knowing how Shy held the natural world as a source of wonder he assumed she was also lost in her own contemplation of the stars.

A light tap upon his shoulder brought Guy around again. He looked down to see Shy's head against his shoulder. She had fallen asleep and had slumped down and to the side. Guy found himself unable to move. Shy was pressed against him and Guy feared waking her. Eventually she would roll over and he would be free to leave her side.

All was peaceful for a time. Guy could hear the metallic shuffling of the guards atop the battlements as they kept watch. The leaves rustled in the light breeze and somewhere further off a few glowworms flickered in the darkness.

Shy shifted in her sleep, lines forming upon her brow. She turned her head a few times, as if she was attempting to shake it. A whimper could be heard. Another spasm and she rolled away form Guy and curled up next to the protruding tree root. Lost in the throes of a nightmare, Shy contorted a bit in her sleep.

Freed from Shy at last, Guy stood up to take leave of her. He looked down at the pitiful figure tossing and turning in a restless and terror ridden sleep. Strained exhales betrayed the fact that she was attempting to scream.

"It's all right," he said, settling himself back under the tree. He coaxed the woman to turn over, rolling her against him. "Shhh, it's all right. You're safe."

Small hands clutched at his coat, permanently fixing her to his side. Guy felt his heart pound like a lead weight in his chest as Shy's movements stilled, he continued to whisper reassurances to her. He kept her near him through the night and whenever another nightmare gripped her tormented mind he hushed her and led her back to a more peaceful sleep. At dawn's first instance of light, Guy gently pried Shy from his side and returned to his own chambers.

* * *

**A/N: Oh fun times ahead. :) So much more still to come. Guy and Shy may have a truce for now, but these two will continue to outdo each other in the insane department. Let the games begin!  
**


	12. Lead Me Not Into Temptation

XII

Lead Me Not Into Temptation

Shy was being a surprisingly complacent patient as Adela applied some salve to the blotching bruises along Shy's face, neck, and arms. Shy sat still as Adela washed and bandaged her hands, the knuckles having been split with forceful and repeated blows. It was a light cut above her eyebrow that caused the woman to jerk and swat the offending hand away.

"Leave it alone," Shy said with a wince.

"Hold still. 'Tis only a little scrape. Let me clean it for you."

"Well that stuff hurts when you spread it over an open wound!"

"Hardly a wound," Adela sniffed, rubbing the salve into the reddened skin despite the woman's protests. "At any rate, you wouldn't have much to complain about if you didn't conduct yourself in such a manner."

"Spare me the speech that will save my soul. You've never had an excuse to learn how to defend yourself," Shy snorted.

"I have my husband for that," Adela remarked. "And it is not right for a woman to learn such things."

"My lady, the word of God and Man was written by men."

"Don't say such things," Adela said with a flush of her cheeks as she capped the jar of the salve and placed it back in one of the drawers. "You sound as wild as a blasphemer."

Shy grinned, tonguing a small cut at the corner of her lips, "It is not blasphemous to state the way of things. It is not God I am angry with, He knows how he made me and He knows what's been done to me. You know, I believe He'd want me to learn such forbidden little tricks."

"It is not our place to assume what God would want us to know," Adela said.

"It is either that or I assume that He does not care if I crawl upon the Earth or walk with my head held high, and what's the point of slipping into such dark thoughts as those?" Shy noted the flush that had yet to die from Adela's cheeks. She was a good woman, raised to the higher philosophies of devotion, but she had never had her faith or devotion so tested.

"You know I only council you because I believe you will get yourself injured one day carrying on as you do," Adela stated.

"I know it, and I thank you for the concern, but the only injury I will do myself is if I do nothing and wait, restless, until I am allowed to leave and return to my home," Shy replied, rising from the chair. She pressed knuckle to palm, testing the sturdiness of the bandages.

"I should ask to borrow that salve, my lady, for if you were to see Guy you'd see how well my training was paying off." Shy grinned like a satisfied cat.

"And are you asking to borrow it for his sake?" Adela inquired as she reopened the drawer and pulled forth the jar.

Shy held out her hand and Adela gave it to her. "You seem to have lost your animosity towards Sir Guy, of late."

"A lack of judgement on my part. Perhaps I'm becoming as pious as yourself, my lady, in my ability to forgive." Shy laughed.

"Indeed? This friendship might benefit you both, I think," Adela remarked as she leaned against the door. She was about to shut it when she was recalled by Shy.

"Guy may be my friend, but it is only for now. Each day I strive to see if he will continue to earn such a title. I do not forget that he is a man, and one day I fear he will do as all men will."

"Not all," Adela said kindly.

"All." Shy's statement was final and absolute, but there was no shadow of trouble in her face. She had resigned herself to this fact a long time ago. She raised the jar a little by way of a nod, "I thank you for the salve, and I'm sure Guy will thank you too once he has used it."

Shy tossed the jar from one hand to the other as she made her way down the hallway. It was significantly less gray as the sun streamed through one of the windows, painting the stone floor yellow with great and unruly brush strokes. The glass of the jar glimmered as Shy tossed it about not seeming to care if she should catch it or not, but with each high throw she managed to catch the jar with a deft hand.

"Your pardon, sir," Shy called as she raced to catch up with a guard she saw a few paces away from herself.

The guard turned, a little bit intrigued to see the wild woman hurrying up to him. He bowed his head a little at her word. Shy stopped before him. "Might you know where Sir Guy is?" she asked.

"He's in the gatehouse, miss." The guard had been given a warning from others who had encountered her on how to address the woman. He himself had not come face to face with her yet.

"Thank you." She was almost cordial in her gratitude. Not at all like the wild and savage beast he was told to expect if he ever crossed her path.

"Might you want me to accompany you?" he asked.

"No," the statement was abrupt and the woman gave her head a faint twitch of disagreement. "I can find my way there myself."

"Are you sure, miss?" The guard asked. "No trouble. I was off in that direction myself."

"I told you no," Shy snapped, her gaze going from cheerful to predatory in a matter of moments and then back again when she seemed to deem him unworthy of any real annoyance. Maybe the woman was mad after all, the guard thought as he gave her leave to go.

Seeing that the man was not going to trouble her further she thanked him again, finding no reason to be angry with the man. Shy supposed he thought he was being polite, and so she must make an effort to realize that was his true intention. So, she forced a smile before skittering on her way. The guard watched her race on ahead, putting as much distance between him and herself as she could. Certainly a very strange woman indeed.

Shy made her way out into the courtyard and crossed over towards the eastern gate. She had two guards allow her passage from the first gate, where the entrance to the gatehouse lay. She wound her way up a flight of stairs and arrived at a plain, wooden door. She knocked twice in quick succession and was answered by one of the Captains of the Castle Guard. He stepped out of the way and allowed her to come inside.

"Shy?" Guy was seated at a small table, holding a layout of the Castle grounds in his hand.

"I've got something for you, Adela gave it to me. Am I interrupting anything?" Shy asked as she glanced at the Captain.

"No," Guy said and signaled for the Captain to leave them, "What is it?"

Shy pulled up a chair and placed the jar of salve upon the table. "It's of Adela's making, something for those bruises of yours." She grinned as she gestured to one of the black and blue marks on his cheek. "Works wonders," she said, flexing her bandaged hands.

Guy smirked, "Since when did you become my caretaker?"

Shy inched her chair closer to him, "Since that was our original arrangement."

She opened the jar and dipped two fingers inside. The cool salve was not quite a liquid nor was it entirely solid. Shy brushed away Guy's hair from his face and applied the salve to his skin. "Might I ask what you are looking at?" She asked, referring to the parchment before him.

"This is a map of the Castle and its grounds," Guy explained, "I'm looking to find any weak points where this imposter and his men might think to enter, or find most vulnerable to attack."

"Sounds fascinating," Shy said apathetically.

"You have not been the one staring at a single piece of parchment for over two hours," Guy sucked in his breath as Shy tended to one of the cuts on his face.

Shy grinned with a wolfish glimmer in her eye, "Stings something fierce, I know."

"You might have said so."

"Sorry," Shy said in a tone which reflected the very opposite, "So have you found any ways of foiling this elusive imposter?"

"He hasn't attacked so I can't know how he thinks or fights, but see, look, the north gate is on the narrow side of the mote, making it easier to attack. Therefore this wall needs the most guards, but if I were to put more soldiers there I'd risk leaving the other gates open for attack."

Shy smiled, seeing that Guy really did take an interest in such matters. "I'm afraid I don't understand such things as military strategy."

"Liar," Guy said, turning his head a little to glance at her.

"Oh? You think a woman like Lady Thea was teaching me such useful things like how to defend a castle?" Shy countered. "There," she announced, leaning back in her chair and capping the jar, "Better?"

Guy had to admit the salve did have a cooling effect on the sting and soreness of the bruises. "Do you want to stay?"

Shy sat up, on her guard. "What?"

Ignoring her startled reaction Guy pointed to the map, "I could teach you a little of strategy."

Shy relaxed once more, "You wouldn't have the patience."

"Try me."

Shy picked up the jar and rose from the chair, challenging the confident smirk upon Guy's face. She shook her head, "I need to return this to Lady Adela."

"Adela can wait," Guy stated.

"I'll go where I will," Shy said with an air of pride. Guy knew she was giving him a warning not to force her to do anything she did not wish to do. Those gray eyes were gauging whether he would place her in danger or allow her free reign.

"Go on then," he said, dismissing her in such a manner that led her to believe she had done him no injury by refusing his offer.

Good man, he knew better than to keep her for any longer than she wished to stay. Shy left him to his maps and strategy, signaling for the Captain to take up his station in the gatehouse once more as she left.

* * *

Guy left the gatehouse far later than he would have liked, the evening sun was already setting and casting a dark haze over the Castle. He would have to apologize to Shy for missing their daily session. She would probably make it hard on him, he thought with a smirk, she wasn't very good at accepting apologies.

The torches in the hall had been lit, which Guy was grateful of as he made his way down the stairwell. He paused as he stood in the the small open tunnel. The gate leading into the courtyard was wide open and the two guards who were supposed to be stationed there were nowhere to be seen. A scraping sound caused him to turn about. The shadow of a man could be seen further down the path leading out of the Castle. He was viciously attempting to open the second gate.

Without leaving room for suspicion of innocence, Guy drew his sword and overtook the man. He shouted to get his attention. The man turned about like a cornered mouse and as Guy neared recognition dawned on him. "Lyle?"

"Sir Guy?" Was that almost relief in that tone? The guard raised his arms to show he was unarmed, but Guy did not lower his weapon.

"You," Guy growled, "are supposed to be on watch with the others."

"I was on my way..."

"Let me guess, you forgot again?" Guy said with a dry snap of humor. Guy shook his head, "What are you doing here?"

"Checking the gates," Lyle said.

Guy shoved the man up against the wall and quickly removed both knife and sword from the man's belt. Lyle seemed to smile as Guy disarmed him, he kept his arms raised in submission. "Not a good enough response, I take it."

"You know how this looks," Guy said.

"How does it look?"

"A guard sneaking away from his post to open a gate?" Guy questioned, keeping Lyle pinned agains the wall, "Who was supposed to meet you here? How many men were you going to let into the Castle?"

"Very good, Sir Guy, now ask me how I was going to kill Lord Waleran while all of his men stood waiting for an attack on the battlements like good, little soldiers." Lyle laughed when Guy pressed his blade to his throat. "You know I'm not going to tell you."

"Not to me, at any rate, but the jailer? Oh, I think you will."

"Not likely," Lyle shook his head as much as he was able. He coughed, beginning to feel the constriction about his neck, "Because I'm willing to bet I don't make it to the dungeons."

"Yeah?" Guy mocked, "And how's that?"

"Because you're going to let me go, and you're going to come with me," Lyle explained. The pressure against his throat was lifted somewhat. Guy stared at him in amazement, bewildered by the man's bold assumption. "We could use a man like you."

"And who says? The Imposter?"

Lyle laughed, "Do you think I'm the Imposter? Hah! Lord no, but I do know the man that's got this city running around scared to leave their own homes." He tilted his head, "Don't think we haven't heard the stories about you, Sir Guy. You're practically one of us, already." Lyle had to lift his head up as the blade came back against his neck with frightening speed, "I was a damned carpenter's son, this Imposter as his lordship is so fond of calling him, promised me position and money. He could get you lands and power. He has influence, and he'll gain more once we take Warwick."

"You think to bribe me?"

"Think on it. The Castle is not so well defended, Lord Waleran is hardly the most capable fighter. You've seen the state of things. We could take the Castle and we will."

"You seem confident I'll accept your offer," Guy said.

"My lord always rewards his followers," Lyle said as one speaking from experience.

Guy smiled, at one time the idea would have had its appeal. This Imposter, whoever he really was, knew how to win over the populace, and he was, as Guy had first thought, an expert opportunist, qualities Guy admired in a man. He had no real care for Waleran or Gavin, even though they had given him free reign and leave to command as many soldiers as he saw fit. He weighed his options and found one lacking, Shy would not be willing to walk into a den of wild and untrustworthy outlaws. And Shy was beginning to become indispensable.

"Well, I hate to disappoint you," Guy brought the hilt of his sword to bear against Lyle's skull. The spy slumped forward, unconscious. Guy caught him, sheathed his sword and supported the dead weight of the man by slinging him over his shoulder.

He carried him out through the arch of the gatehouse. Guy cursed when he saw the bodies of the two guards who were supposed to be patrolling the gates. And then he remembered why Lyle had been making his way towards the gate in the first place. "Sound the alarm!" Guy shouted up towards the battlements. "Watch for any attack on the East Gate! Go!" He told the patrol of men staring down at him.

One man quickly ran to ring the bell in the tower to alert the other guards. Guy continued to make his way back to the main hall of the Castle. He arrived at the doors just as the bells began to sound. He met with Gavin half way to the Great Hall.

"What in God's name is going on?" The Master-At-Arms shouted, "Gisborne? Why is one of my men being carried like a sack of grain over your shoulder?"

"I have," Guy announced, letting Lyle fall to the floor, "your spy."

"What?"

"No time to explain. He was trying to open the gate for his men to come into the Castle. I have guards stationed over the gates ready to fire upon anyone who attempts to near the Castle. Although the alarm should scare any would-be attackers off."

"I'll join the men on the battlements," Gavin said with a nod. "Get this man to the dungeons. I'll deal with him later."

Guy did as he was told. He left Lyle in the custody of two other guards who took him down to the dungeons to be questioned once he came round. For a moment, Guy was caught up in the frenzy of seeing to the safety of the Castle. He organized many of the guards and secured the gates.

The unmistakable hiss of arrows cut through the night sky. The Imposter's men were making bold with an attack and the Castle guards were returning fire. One thought fissured through Guy's mind as he made his way towards the battlements and it caused him to turn about and change direction. A few dark arrows that had overshot their mark were landing in the ends of the courtyard nearest the walls. The landing of the arrows triggered the sudden thought. Shy! She would be outside and Lord knew where she had gone to once the alarm had been sounded. He ran to find her, praying that none of the stray arrows had found an unexpected mark.

* * *

**A/N: Cliffhanger! Again...I never get tired of these. :)**

**Next update should be soon! Don't forget to review!  
**


	13. Revelations

XIII

Revelations

Shy was not where she should have been, then again, she would have been a fool to have been outside after the alarm had been sounded. She had probably gone inside the Castle to wait out the battle with Adela, or had taken to hiding in some small, secluded area. This was not good enough.

Guy went tearing through the Castle halls screaming for Shy. It would be impossible to break down every door and every chamber in order to find her. He hoped she would hear him and come to him, but he never saw her appear, or hear her gruff snap of a response to his cries. Maybe she was truly hiding, she was an intelligent woman, she would know to hide and remain hidden until she had been told it was safe to emerge. Well, damn her intelligence, Guy thought as he continued his search. He was calling for her, that should be enough to alert her it was safe for her to come out, if only for a moment so he might know she was relatively safe.

But what if she wasn't? What if she had gotten caught in the crossfire? What if she had gone outside to look for him in her own confusion? This question caused him to retrace his steps back out to the courtyard. She was not there. She could by lying in a darkened corner of the grounds, injured and unable to call for help. Then how could he find her? The ground was reeling beneath his feet. She would be bleeding out, trying to crawl away, trying to call for help. He strained his ears to listen for a faint cry amidst the chaos and the shouting around him.

It would be his fault if she were to die because he hadn't gotten to her in time. No, no, he couldn't have that, couldn't have it be his fault. He tore back inside the Castle yet again. There must be a hall he hadn't checked yet? Some secluded corner or chamber? She could not have just disappeared into thin air.

At last Guy's cries attracted some attention, but not from the source he had wanted. Adela opened up her chamber door to see Guy storming his way down the hall. She had heard him on his previous sweep of the area, but she hadn't thought anything of it before. Now, curious, and frightened, she sought to find out what was going on.

"Sir Guy!" She called, gesturing for him to come to her, too afraid to leave the safety of her room, and under strict orders from her husband not to move.

The haggard knight came over to her, his eyes darting from left to right, trying to pick up a fleeting shadow of a figure out of the corner of his eye. Adela did not have the look of a concerned woman. "Why are you not with the rest of the men?"

"Have you seen Shy?" Guy asked, as if he had not heard the question.

"No, I have not."

"I have to find her."

"Shy, is capable of taking care of herself as she has told me many a time. You need to be with the other men, defending the castle from attack."

"You don't understand. Shy hates to stay inside. She'll be out there. She could have been caught up in the battle," Guy explained.

"Shy would know better than to run headlong into battle," Adela remarked.

"She'll be injured...I can't, I _can't_ have her die. She'll have lost blood, she won't be able to make it back inside. She'll die. She'll die, and it's my fault...it's my fault..."

Adela placed a hand upon Guy's shoulder, hushing him to stop the flow of terrible thoughts. Guy did not seem to see her as he continued to ramble on. Adela did not think he was talking only about Shy, she had heard the rumors of his past as well. "You must not think such thoughts," she advised, "Focus on defending the Castle-"

"_What do I care for your damned Warwick? Shy is my responsibility!_" Guy leapt back from Adela, looking as if he would strike her down.

"Sir Guy of Gisborne go and fight with my husband and the soldiers! You shame yourself with this display of madness!" Adela drew herself up to her full height and stared the furious man down. But pity soon drowned out her moment of aggression as soon as she saw Guy's head dip in shame. "I will look for Shy, myself," her gut twisted within her. Going to search for Shy would mean disobeying and order from her husband and she had never done such a thing before.

Guy raised his head, relieved that someone would look out for his friend. He nodded slowly. "You will go now?" Adela asked.

"Thank you," Guy said softly, "You will make sure she is safe?"

"Of course, I understand she is your friend. I will do my best." Adela watched Guy run down the hall to make his way towards the battlements with the rest of the men.

As soon as he was gone, Adela threw on her cloak and, with trembling breath, made her way out of her chamber. Her heart pounded as she took off down the hallway. If Gavin ever caught her he would never let her live this down, nor would he ever believe it. But she did have a promise to keep. The men would need all the help they could get, and it was better she scour the hallways as long as Guy was helping secure the Castle. She did not doubt that her husband would assure everyone's safety. He had done it before, it was only a matter of time before the Imposter and his forces retreated in defeat.

* * *

A guard fell from the battlement, an arrow lodged in his throat. He was not the first causality of the night. The Imposter was pressing his luck tonight. Gavin was ducking down against the onslaught of arrows. He had called for fire arrows and two soldiers had since left the battlements to get the supplies. Their return was anxiously awaited by the Master-At-Arms.

"Where have you been?" Gavin shouted to Guy as he took his place beside him.

Guy did not respond to the question, he glanced out below, keeping himself well shielded from any arrows. Gavin proceeded to explain their current situation. "There's not as many of them as I first thought. They're taking advantage of the night. They can see us, but we can't see them."

"What do you intend to do about that?" Guy asked.

"There's two of our men bringing up pitch to light fire arrows and burn the bastards out," Gavin remarked with a bit of relish. "Nice way to send them all off to Hell." He laughed at his own joke, but Guy remained stone-faced.

"And where is Lord Waleran?" Guy hazard to ask.

"At the North Gate with a troop of soldiers to make certain the Imposter does not mean to trap us at one end of the Castle while he breaks in from the other side," Gavin explained with rapid breath.

There was a second lull in the volley of arrows and that was when Gavin chose his moment of having his men fire a retaliation, but they were shooting blindly, but from the few dull moans of pain, it was evident one or two arrows found their targets.

"Not very effective is it?" Guy commented on Gavin's hit-and-miss strategy.

Gavin was not pleased with the snide remark. He glared over at the man, eyes burning in the thin glow of the torchlight, "Did you come up here to help or to scorn us?"

"My lord!" The cry came from the tower to their right as two guards came running over, carrying a bucket of pitch between them, and a few quivers of arrows to replace those used by the archers.

Gavin let out a laugh of delight upon seeing them, "Thank God, hurry lads," he met the guards half way and took the pitch from them and set it down. "Dip the arrows in that and light them with the torches. Send down three warning shots."

This order was quickly carried out. Three archers readied their arrows, and once they were lit they sent the flames down. A line of fire illuminated the scene down below and was brightened considerably by a fourth and fifth arrow. A line of archers made up the front ranks, and a second row stood behind. As one row took the shot the other reloaded. With the small, but efficient force finally visible, Gavin ordered the archers to fire.

Gavin handed Guy a bow and tossed him a quiver full of arrows. The two men fired at the attackers. Gavin with the occasional laugh upon ridding himself of a pest, Guy with an almost inhuman calculation and disinterest. If a man fell to his arrow he did not even blink. His thoughts were elsewhere.

It did not take long for the remaining men below to begin a retreat into the safety of the darkness and out of the range of the arrows. Once the assault stopped Gavin ordered the men to stop firing at the retreating forces. He threw down his bow with a shout of triumph. "Run back to your whore of a mother's skirts, you bastards!"

The fire of the initial victory leaving him, Gavin felt a cold sobriety steal over him. "Matthew," he spoke to the guard standing beside him. "Gather up the fallen, give me a number of how many we lost. We'll hold a ceremony for them in the morning."

The guard nodded and helped his comrades support the bodies of those who had died that night down the battlement steps.

"You know they'll make an attack again," Guy informed Gavin.

"Aye, no doubt, but we're thinning their ranks bit by bit," Gavin said, "And now we've got one of their own in our dungeons."

"I don't think he'll tell you anything," Guy said, "He's loyal to his cause."

"Cause," Gavin spat, "Disorder and anarchy. The man will be treated to a dose of the suffering he has inflected upon me and the people of Warwick. I'll see to that."

"If that is all then?" Guy asked.

"My God, man," Gavin was astonished. "You catch a spy and fight in near darkness for hours and all you can ask me is if that is all, as casually as you please? Are you even capable of human emotion or are you as devilish as the stories say?"

"I would ask for permission to find Shy. I lost her before the fighting broke out," Guy explained in short sentences, his anger evident in his dark tone.

Gavin looked horrified with his own comment, "There I go talking of things I know nothing about. Yes, yes of course, go. I hope she is well." He had not realized that the blank-faced calm, Guy had been exuding had been one of self-preservation so that he did not lose his mind for panic. Watching him leave the battlements, bow still in hand as if he had forgotten he was even holding it, Gavin was struck with how hard the man's control over his own emotions must be.

* * *

Adela had gained an ounce of understanding as she searched the Castle for the missing Shy. No wonder Guy had panicked so. She really was no where to be found. Adela feared to cross the courtyard, but she was left with no other option. She placed a hand upon the doors leading out and slowly pushed them open.

Her eyes were closed in momentary fear as images of carnage plagued her mind. The heavy door swung open with a creak, but that was all the noise she was treated to. Adela opened first one eye and then the other. The men had stopped shouting and there didn't appear to be any sign of immediate battle. Then it had ended? They were safe? Oh praise the good Lord! The guards were even beginning to come down from the battlements, a few with haggard expressions on their faces, others with blood covering them. She would have to make a point to help tend to the injured men later.

She crossed the grounds now with a much faster and eager pace. Now that the danger had passed, perhaps Shy would come out and this search could be over and this panic could recede. Adela hoped to find Shy before Guy returned from the battlements. She could not bear the look of guilt and terror in that man's eyes.

The chapel was situated separately from the rest of the Castle. It had it's own structure near the western battlement. It was small, but Adela loved the little chapel where she often went to to pray, and at times, to be alone with her own thoughts. She had not thought to look for Shy in here, she wondered if Guy had already checked inside.

"Shy?" Adela called as she opened the chapel doors. She left the half opened doors behind her as she walked inside. A few candles had been lit, illuminating the small sanctuary. And there, hiding underneath one of the prayer benches was Shy. She was curled up into a ball, head down, but she looked up upon hearing her name.

"My lady?" Shy whispered, "Hurry and get down. It's not safe for you to be wandering about!"

"Shy have you been here the whole time?" Adela asked, relief heavy in her voice. She was mentally giving thanks to God for finding the troublesome woman.

"I was outside when I heard the sounds of the attack. I went to go see what was wrong when I saw arrows coming into the courtyard. I ran, my lady, and hid here," Shy explained, beginning to uncurl.

"Well you can come out now. It's all over, we're safe."

Shy crawled out from under the bench, "That is a relief," she remarked, "I was beginning to cramp." She stretched her back to emphasize the point.

"Guy will be pleased to see you. He must have run the length of the Castle trying to find you," Adela said, watching Shy's face with a keen interest. There was only the quickest flickers of intrigue at such a statement.

"Does he not think I know better than to stand about in harm's way?"

"That was what I told him," Adela said with a smile, now able to reflect on a little humor, given that things had all turned out right. "Come out and show yourself before he loses all sanity."

Laughing, Shy followed Adela out of the chapel and back into the night air. Gavin was just making his way down from the battlements. He saw Adela and Shy crossing the grounds. "Adela?" He shouted to his wife. "Have you lost your mind? What are you doing out here?"

Adela blushed in the dark as her husband ran over to her. "I'm all right."

"I told you to keep to the room!" He yelled alternating between shaking her and embracing her. The events of the night had left him tired and on edge. The thought that his wife might have been wandering around in the midst of a battle was enough to set him off.

"I'm sorry, Gavin," Adela said, trying to calm him, "I promised I would help to find Shy."

"Promised?" Gavin questioned, "Promised who—oh...I may kill him."

"Oh, no Gavin, please don't be angry," Adela said, "It was the only way to get him to help you."

"Stop shaking her," Shy said to Gavin, crossing her arms in discomfort, "You'll hurt her."

Knowing that he was far from hurting his wife, but not wishing to give Shy reason to distrust him anymore that she already did, Gavin restrained his mounting temper. Adela was safe, after all, there was no real point in prolonging any rage.

"_Shy!_"

Guy's voice was a sharp cry. All three turned their heads to see him running with all speed over to the shocked woman. For a brief moment, it looked as if he meant to embrace her. Shy even backed up away from him in surprise. "Where have you been?"

"In the chapel," she said, "I thought I heard someone calling my name outside, but...I couldn't go and look." Shy shifted about from foot to foot, uncomfortable at the look of utter relief in Guy's eyes. "My, my," she said, "what's all this for?"

"I'm glad you are unhurt," Guy said.

Shy gave him a roguish wink, secretly touched by his unabashed concern for her well-being, "If I had known you'd be this dramatic over me I would have seen to it I had gotten killed just to watch you blame yourself for an eternity and a half from the after-life." She gave him a light shove, but Guy flinched back and away from her.

"I will help the men clear away the battlements and organize a watch," Guy said to Gavin, ignoring Shy entirely.

Gavin only nodded his agreement and Guy quickly turned to stalk away. Shy was nonplussed. "Guy?" she called after him, but he did not look back.

"Shy!" Adela could not help the word of outrage, "What were you thinking?"

"I...it was only a joke. You lot have no concept of humor, you know," Shy whirled about to face the pair. Both Adela and Gavin were eying her with ill-concealed disgust. "I'm fine. We're all fine and safe. I thought that..."

"My God she does not know," Adela said in hushed tones.

"Know what?"

"It's not our place to start spreading rumors, Adela," Gavin said, placing an arm about his wife and leading her away.

"Know...what?" Shy grabbed Adela's arm forcing her to look her in the eye. "What is going on?"

Adela led Shy back to her chambers much to Gavin's muttered protests. Gavin did not stay to hear any explanation given to the woman. He made his excuses that he must go and seek out Lord Waleran to report on the night's events. Shy sat herself down in one of the chairs, stifling a yawn of exhaustion, the hour was growing quite late and she was at once reminded that she had not yet managed to get so much as a moment of rest. Adela was likewise fatigued. She looked at Shy, now uncertain as to how to proceed, she had rather hoped her husband would have stayed to explain. She did not like speaking about unpleasant matters.

"You are familiar with the outlaw named Robin Hood?" Adela asked.

Shy nodded, "Heard his name spoken once or twice in Rotherham. Robbing form the rich and giving to the poor? Always liked the idea of a man like that...but what does that-"

"Sheriff Vaysey of Nottingham was supposedly a cruel man, my lord Waleran often spoke of how he had conspired to get him to Nottingham on occasion, a meeting between the nobles, never went, my lord couldn't stand the man. Lord Vaysey and his lieutenant were instrumental in trying to hunt down and kill Robin Hood."

"This makes for a riveting story, but I wish you would get to the point!" Shy said, crossing her legs and leaning back against the chair.

Adela licked dry lips as she tried to dance around the very point Shy was so anxious to hear told. "Right...yes...the lieutenant I mentioned, he is the same Sir Guy of Gisborne you know."

"I don't believe you," Shy scoffed.

"It is true."

"Why would a Sheriff's lieutenant be left for dead in the middle of the forest and cast aside like a common dog in the street?" Shy seemed pleased with her analogy. She challenged Adela to defend her accusation.

"Yes, that would bring me to another issue...now please bear in mind this may only be traveler's gossip. I should hate to think this be true..."

"Tell me!"

"There was a noblewoman, a Lady Marian of Knighton-"

"Marian?" Shy sat upright.

"You know the name?"

Shy clamped her mouth shut and said no more. Adela saw the disturbed expression upon the woman's face and decided it would be best to say it all now before she found another excuse to delay, "It was said, at least as far as rumors go, Sir Guy was in love with the Lady Marian. And then she seemed to vanish, gone for nearly six months. People say he...Sir Guy...killed her. That the lady, who was known to detest him, spurned him, and in his rage he murdered her. Least that is what is said. Some say Sir Guy lost his mind, but since the fall of Nottingham Castle, I have heard it spoken about that he had changed sides and fought with Robin Hood and the people of Nottingham while Lord Vaysey attacked. Some think it out of repentance for his crimes. Either way, we were told he and Robin Hood had been killed defending Nottingham."

Shy's eyes were rooted to the floor as she absorbed this information. At every turn she found herself faced with some new information about her so-called friend. Again, she knew nothing about him. No that was not true, he had tried to tell her once before that he was a man marked by crimes. He had called himself a traitor and a murderer. She had not thought of how serious he had been.

"Oh, do say something, Shy! Was I wrong to tell you?" Adela begged.

"No," Shy croaked out, "No, it was best that you had told me." She rose to her feet, swaying only a little.

"Where are you going?" Adela asked as Shy headed for the door.

"There is an apology I have to make..."

* * *

**A/N: I think this story is running away from me, in a good way. I'm going back to working on the next chapter. You can feel free to review! :)**


	14. A Simple Embrace

XIV

A Simple Embrace

Shy did not know if Guy would be in his chambers. He had said he would be helping the rest of the guards on the battlements, but she wandered to the door of his room regardless, hoping he might be inside. Her stomach contorted and twisted into knots as she walked. She reflected on her recent words to him and wished she could dash her head against the wall. What a selfish, simple-minded fool she must have seemed like! And Adela had told her head had run himself mad over trying to find her just to assure himself she was safe. And that was all the thanks she had given him.

She was not accustomed to true remorse. She had never had an occasion to feel total shame before, especially not for a man. The emotions rioted within her and she wished she could subdue them. Never before had she felt so conflicted, but she needed to hear it from Guy. Perhaps Adela had been wrong and everything she had said was truly only malicious rumor. Then there would be no need to feel this way, which would be a great relief.

With the door to Guy's chambers before her eyes she fumbled with how to approach this barrier. Her hand was raised and she knocked twice with swift, feeble taps. "Guy?" She hesitated upon calling out his name. "Are you there?"

There was no answer. Even if he was really inside did she expect him to open the door to such an ungrateful snake such as herself? Shy steeled her heart and knocked again. "Guy, please..." Her begging tone made her sick and her uncontrollable temper took over, "Fine. I will wait outside until you open this damned door!" Still no answer. Shy gave the door an aggravated kick.

"What are you doing?"

Shy turned to see Guy walked down the hall and looking far more exhausted than she ever could. Shy, at once, flew backwards, startled upon seeing him outside. Words that she had tried to plan burst and vanished inside her head, leaving her gawping silently.

"Have you not done enough tonight?" Guy sighed as he pulled open the door.

"Wait..." but the door had already shut. Shy pounded on the unyielding wood. "Guy!"

"Woman! Can you not see I wish to be left alone?" Came the petulant shout from within.

"I only wanted to apologize. Guy...I didn't know, I swear I would never have spoken to you in such a way if I had...I'm sorry." She startled herself with her sincerity. "I'm sorry..." There was no response from behind the door, "Please, let me in..."

She knocked a few more times, but her efforts seemed to be in vain. She sighed and let her hand lay flat against the door before sliding it away. She was about to turn to leave when the bolt was unlatched and the door was pulled open. Guy stood in the small gap, his gaze was cold ice. After a moment of contemplation, Guy stepped aside and let Shy enter.

"I looked for you..." Guy said in the direction of the door.

"I know..."

"I thought you had been hurt, or trapped..."

"And I thank you for your concern, but...I am fine! And I did not think you would notice where I was. It is not my responsibility to inform you of every step I take." Shy could have cursed herself once again for her harsh words. "That's not what I came here to say...Adela told me, at least, she mentioned certain events. She explained how and why my words may have been misconstrued by you. I wanted to know if it was true."

Guy was silent. He only nodded his head. Shy felt her legs buckle beneath her. "Are you afraid?" Guy asked.

"No, only angry."

"And what right do you have to be angry with me?" Guy spat.

"I find every time I get used to who I think you are I discover you are something entirely different. You know my past. I; however, know nothing about you."

"I can not be blamed for what you chose to reveal to anyone," Guy shrugged.

"Well...well I can blame you for making me feel like a selfish fool!" Shy shouted, "All this time I let you try and help me; I never thought...I didn't think to ever ask or..."

The anger in Guy's eyes cooled as he saw how shamed Shy was over her inability to help him and her ignorance of his past. Something stabbed at his heart at the sight of the guilt-ridden woman. "You are hardly selfish," he replied with a softness that caused Shy to look up at him. "You can not expect yourself to know everything."

"Yes, I can," Shy said with a small smile which she was pleased to see returned to her.

"Many a woman would be far too afraid to be kept in the same room with a monster like me. Let alone concern herself with his well-being..." Guy said.

"Did you mean to kill Marian?" Shy asked quietly.

Guy turned his head away from her, his hand over his mouth, unable to reply to such a question. Shy had her answer in his silence. She placed a hand on his arm, as if to comfort him. "I have pictured that day over a thousand times..." his voice broke in places, but Shy pretended to ignore it as Guy knew he would want her to do, "Each time I swear I dropped my sword before I reached for her, but—I do not know how I could have hurt her. How can I make you understand what it is to destroy your whole life?"

Shy tightened her grip upon his arm, but Guy would not turn to look at her. "I was content to die; to accept my punishment for the crimes I had committed in life, and who is to say if God would not have shown me mercy and allowed me the chance to see her one last time...but for you," his blue eyes held the glassy look of unshed tears, "you meddlesome witch, you would not let me die."

It took Shy a minute to realize the words were not spoken out of malice, but with a raw humor. "Perhaps," Shy coughed to cover up the fine crack in her own voice, "Perhaps you judge wrongly. Mayhap death would have been a reward and I am, in fact, your punishment."

"Ah, I knew I was in Hell the moment I awoke to see you staring at me with those cold, unfeeling eyes of yours." Guy reached up and placed his hand over Shy's own.

Shy flinched, but it was not from Guy's touch. She took a step forward, but then seemed to rethink this and back away, but no sooner had she done this then she inched closer to him again. Finally, she acted on whatever impulse was urging her on. Her arms went around him in a brief, yet tight embrace.

"Oh.." Guy inhaled sharply at her touch, "Shy..." His arms were ridged and he found he could not force himself to return the comforting embrace. It was as if he had frozen. Shy was pressed against his chest, holding him secure in her arms. He closed his eyes, succumbing to the modicum of solace. He lowered his head so that it rested upon Shy's shoulder.

This embrace did not last long, Shy soon released him, Guy saw her without her usual mask of brash sarcasm and hardened indifference. Her eyes did not know where to look, and she brushed her hands down her dress, unable to understand her own sudden and rare urge to want to comfort a friend, and a man, for that matter. "Forgive me," Shy said, breaking the gentle silence, "I do not know what to do, or say..." her voice trailed off as she gave up on her own miserable excuses. "I have only ever had one true friend...well, two, now, I suppose."

His heart burned in his chest, and Guy had to restrain himself from finally reaching out and pulling her into his arms. The thought startled him and he fought it into a swift denial, forcing himself not to think of how warm and soothing she had felt against him, but to instead see only the platonic image of the woman: the injured and violated woman who would never allow him to touch or hold her.

"I do forgive you," Guy told her. "Any animosity between us had best be left until your lesson tomorrow."

Shy laughed, her gray eyes shimmering in the dim light of the bedchamber. The iron shield around the woman had been brought down. Now her humor had an honesty of feeling behind it. "See that you aren't late this time. Good-night, Guy," she said as she pulled open the door.

Guy fell upon the bed as soon as she left him, his hand over his eyes. He had been beaten down and built back up again in a matter of minutes. His head throbbed at the myriad of mixed emotions and his body ached with battle-fatigue. This night had felt like a life time. He would recall later, once he awoke, that Shy's name had been on his lips like a whisper of a prayer before he had been enveloped into a peaceful and restoring sleep.

* * *

Gavin stood in the open doorway of the chapel, his arms folded across his chest. He hadn't dared to make a sound to announce his presence, he was entirely certain that what he was witnessing was either a miracle or a grand deception. Sir Guy of Gisborne, the infamous traitor and murderer, was praying.

He was kneeling before he altar, his hands clasped together and his head bowed. If he spoke, it was with a whisper of a voice and Gavin could not decipher what it was he was saying. It felt wrong to intrude and yet, he had no choice. Lyle, the prisoner so recently captured, needed to be questioned and Lord Waleran wanted to speak with Guy and hear the full report of the events leading to the man's capture. There was no time to indulge Guy's need for prayer.

Gavin stole upon him quietly. Guy did not raise his head, or turn about, but Gavin was certain he knew he was no longer alone. Gavin knelt down beside Guy, making the sign of the cross as he did so. "Sir Guy," Gavin's voice was kept to a low whisper, "you might imagine my surprise upon finding you here."

Guy did not respond. His eyes were closed and he seemed entrenched in his own quiet words to God. Lines furrowed his brow and he hunched over like a man defeated. "What does a man like you pray for?" Gavin said, his voice not passing judgement.

At this Guy opened his eyes and raised his head with a sigh, his words of supplication interrupted, "Forgiveness," he responded in monotone.

"I would imagine so," Gavin said.

Guy's body shook a little as he laughed quietly, his azure eyes pierced Gavin's as he turned to look at him. "I do not seek forgiveness for my past crimes. I made my peace with that some time ago and I do not expect my plea to be answered."

"Then why do you continue to pray?"

"I have been troubled with sinful thoughts..." Guy muttered, his gaze shifting.

"Ah, I might have guessed. I thought you cared for the woman," Gavin said attempting to hide a knowing grin.

Guy looked horrified. Gavin quickly assuaged his momentary fears. "Your secret is entirely safe with me, I assure you."

"I do not know if I care for Shy," Guy admitted, "but I think of her...often."

"It's not a sin to admit affection for a woman, Guy," Gavin told him, "And it's not something you can pray away, I'm afraid."

"You do not understand! Anyone I have ever cared for I have destroyed. I lived with the shame of believing to have killed my own parents for half of my life; I murdered the only woman I have ever loved..." Guy squeezed his hands together as a wave of grief washed over him, "Even the girl who tried to save my life was killed in the attempt. I am cursed. I'll not be the cause of another's destruction."

"Perhaps these thoughts are unfounded," Gavin said, "Maybe your words would best be given over to Shy instead of an empty altar."

"Shy has had men force themselves upon her as if she had no more feeling than an animal. I will _never_ give her cause for her to fear me. The admitting of affection, no matter how slight or insignificant, would have her doubt me." Guy's outrage was palpable. Gavin was forced to back down and allow the troubled man to think as he would. "No," Guy swallowed hard, looking up at the single window of the chapel, watching the light play off of the glass pane as it filtered inside. "I _will_ content myself with being her protector and friend for as long has she has need of me," he said this with force and a small shake of his head, hoping that through sheer willpower alone he could control his own desires.

Gavin followed Guy's gaze back to the altar and the cross. He uttered a silent prayer of his own: hoping that Guy would see sense soon enough. His companion's honorable intentions struck a cord within him and Gavin found himself beginning to believe that there was far more to Guy than he had previously thought.

"Now why did you really come here?" Guy asked, piety aside for now.

"Lord Waleran asked me to bring you to the Great Hall to report on your capture of the prisoner. We are to question him today," Gavin answered.

Guy sighed and rose to his feet, an ironic smirk on his face. He had spent the morning trying to force compassion into his being and praying for patience. Now, it seems, he would spend his afternoon in violence and torture. Was it any wonder none of his prayers had ever been answered? God must have turned his back on him long ago.

The two left the peace of the chapel and made their way to the Great Hall, where Waleran was awaiting them. As they crossed the courtyard they caught sight of Adela and Shy walking with one another. Upon seeing Guy, Shy waved over at him, a smile on her lips. Guy merely raised his hand by way of greeting. Gavin watched this exchange with interest. He recalled how when Shy had first arrived at Warwick she could barely look either of them in the eye and now she was smiling honestly and seemed to have lost some of that hard, impenetrable edge.

"Perhaps, Guy, you might consider that you are not, in fact, destroying Shy," Gavin dared to remark to the sullen face Guy, "On the contrary, you might even be healing her."

* * *

Waleran, Gavin, and Guy had been down in the dungeon for nearly an hour. The spy, Lyle, was strung up on the rack, his body soaked in sweat as he strained in his bonds. His arms were stretched up over his head, already one of his arms had dislocated and judging by the look of the other, it was not far behind.

"Let's try an easier question, then," Gavin growled as he signaled for the jailer to stop turning the wheel. Lyle fell back against the board, panting and gasping as the tension stopped for just a moment, "How many men are stationed around the Castle?"

Lyle said nothing. He turned his face away from his interoggator and focused on one of the damp stones against the opposite wall. "Cooperate and this can end, Lyle," Gavin said, "You think I take pleasure in torturing one of my own men?"

Lyle laughed, but held his tongue, his eyes trained on the wall. Gavin sighed, "Untie him, place him back in his cell. No food or water. We'll try him again tomorrow when he has had time to think on the consequences of his silence."

Lord Waleran exchanged glances with his Master-At-Arms, "You think he will prove any more talkative than today?"

"Not likely," Guy answered in place of Gavin. His arms crossed as he leaned against the bars of one of the empty cells behind him. "Not if you keep giving him options."

"An option of mercy shows our goodwill," Gavin replied.

"Weakness," Guy grunted.

"And what would you suggest then, Sir Guy?" Gavin whispered harshly.

Guy drew away from the cell bars and approached a table laden with instruments of torture. He turned over a branding iron and then a whip laced with spikes, before his hand came to rest upon a simple knife. "Give him an ultimatum."

"My lord," Gavin looked to Waleran, "You can not kill the man. He is the best bargaining chip we have in this fight."

"I'm not going to kill him," Guy assured Gavin and Waleran.

Waleran looked over at Guy, observing how he moved about the dungeon as one accustomed to the darkness. He held the knife in his hand as a carpenter might have held a hammer; a simple tool to be used to carry out his occupation. Waleran nodded slowly. "My lord!" Gavin protested.

Guy strode over to the nearly delirious Lyle. He turned his head so that he was forced to look up at him. The tortured man glanced at the knife-blade in Guy's hands without much terror. He blinked, expecting yet another question to be put to him. Without saying a word Guy brought the knife to bear at the base of one of the man's fingers and cut it off. Lyle broke his silence then, screaming and pulling at his bonds. His back arched off of the rack, his mutilated hand twisting against the ropes. Blood dripped down, coating his arm and splattering onto his shoulder.

Amidst Lyle's screaming Guy finally asked him the same question Gavin had, "How many men are outside the Castle?"

Lyle did not answer, his screams gave way to wretched sobs of pain. Guy brought the knife to the tip of Lyle's second finger, "Answer."

Lyle struggled to shake his head, and once more he found himself screaming as the end of his finger was sliced from him. "Answer, or I cut it all off. Remain silent and I remove every last one." He pressed the blade into the skin just below the joint.

"Twelve...twelve men!" Lyle shouted, eyes closed as he felt Guy saw into his finger, slowly, giving him time to consider his answer.

"I'm inclined to believe you are lying," Guy hissed, letting the knife dance through tissue and blood.

"I'm telling the truth! It's the truth!" Lyle shouted.

Guy cut through the last of what remained of the finger. "Two-score!" Lyle screamed.

"Good man," Guy said, lowering his arm and letting the knife disappear from Lyle's sight. He looked up at the jailer, "See that his hand is properly cleaned and bandaged. Tomorrow he may choose to be more civil...and truthful."

"Go to Hell, you bastard!" Lyle spat as he was slowly untied, he held his ruined hand against his chest.

Guy ignored the man's curses. He threw the bloodied knife back onto the table. "How did you know he was lying?" Gavin asked, his eyes remarkable icy as he glared at him.

"They always lie the first time. Think they'll get you to stop by telling you what you want to hear. He was smart, he kept it as close to the truth as he could. Two-score men is not as big of a force as you assumed was it?" Guy asked, looking down to his blood coated hand.

"Send a patrol out. Have them scout the perimeter," Waleran ordered Gavin.

"Yes, my lord, should we try to send a message to them? Tell them we have one of their men?"

"Not yet," Waleran said as he signaled for the two men to follow him up the stairs and out of the dungeon. "Wait for him to be sufficiently recovered and then send word. I doubt they will negotiate, but we can't rule out anything now."

"Clever of you," Gavin said to Guy an undercurrent of mockery in his voice, "to request he be sufficiently taken care of. Almost merciful."

"Perhaps your morals are beginning to have an effect on me," Guy retorted.

As soon as Waleran had taken his leave of the two men Gavin's demeanor underwent a sudden change. He grabbed Guy and shoved him up against the wall. "I am well acquainted with how you dealt with matters in Nottingham. Let me make myself clear, Sir Guy, that is not the way we handle affairs in Warwick!"

"Get off of me!" Guy growled, attempting to shove Gavin away from him, but Gavin's grip and strength were almost as strong as Guy's and after a brief tussle, Guy remained firmly bound against the unyielding stone wall. "I was trying to help you..."

"And how was maiming our most valuable prisoner of help to us?"

"He told you the information you wanted, didn't he?"

"Aye, and I would have had that information from him all the same once I had earned his _trust_. The torture he endured was necessary, but not permanent. I would have seen to it that the rack was the last of his agony. Trust you can build on. Trust can afford _more_ information than a few words spoken in fear!"

"You are a fool!" Guy spat, "Never trust a man completely who is willing to sell out his own loyalty! I take no pleasure in torture, but that man would have led you round in circles before marching you down a false path!"

"This will never happen again, Guy, do you understand? If you wish for me to give you and Shy aid when you are allowed to leave here, you will refrain from unnecessary violence."

"You leave her out of your threats!"

"Consider this _your _ultimatum." Gavin released him, his eyes cold but not devoid of feeling. He looked as if he would walk away from Guy, but an observation held him back. "Don't let Shy see you like this," he pointed to the blood still staining Guy's hand, "What in Heaven's name would she think?"

Guy looked down at his blood-stained hand as he heard Gavin march away. He covered it and went in earnest to wash all trace of vileness the dungeons and the torture chamber had marked him with before he met with Shy that evening.

* * *

**A/N: Well, there it is! The first glimmer of romance...it only took fourteen chapters. Now the games can begin! Mwahahah!**


	15. Tread Carefully

XV

Tread Carefully

Shy moved with efficiency and grace. Her stance was wide, but balanced as she eyed the post with the intensity of a hawk. The dagger in her hand was twirled with an almost loving dexterity, it was obvious she had been practicing with the blade every opportunity she got. The smooth handle slid on her palm like a silvery kiss. The edge of the blade rested on her fingertips for a fraction of a second before she spun it between her fingers again, dancing it away from any chance of a cut.

When she stopped toying with the blade she raised her arm, gripping the handle of the dagger with a light squeeze. With a grunt of exertion she threw the dagger, hearing the satisfying _whish_ of air as the blade disrupted the silence around her. It buzzed in her ears for half a moment before she was rewarded with yet another sound: the triumphant victory of the knife embedding itself into the sturdy wooden post.

"Hah!" Came the cry as she pumped her fist into the air. Then without skipping a beat, she plucked a second dagger from her belt and without warning she threw it to chase after its twin. It made its home in the wood just below the first blade. "Don't you tell me that was not brilliant!"

"It was good," Guy said from his position next to the post. He pulled the daggers out of the wood, finding himself having far more difficulty removing the last one. With a frustrated tug he managed to remove it at last. "But hardly perfect."

Shy snatched the daggers from Guy as he walked back over to her. "Then I shall practice until you are entirely satisfied and forced to admit I am perfect."

"You intend to stay out here for eternity?"

Shy glared at him, but Guy smirked, watching the fire dance in Shy's gray eyes. She threw the blades into the post once again. "Well, perfection or not, that will stop any man who gets in my way."

"Throwing daggers into a wooden post is one thing, Shy," Guy remarked as he retrieved the weapons once more, "Killing a man is entirely another."

Shy shot him a look of uncaring disbelief, "I promise you, if I am confronted with anyone who seeks to do me harm I'll show him as much mercy as that post."

"Promise nothing of the kind!" Guy snapped, his mood turning. "Do not wish to take anyone's life, Shy, it's not a shame you want staining yourself."

Shy stood like a well chided girl, but her eyes still burned with defiance. Guy sighed, "I think we are done for the day."

"If I do not use the skills you are teaching me to defend myself, then what is the point of all this?" Shy asked, "This is not for my own amusement. It is necessary I know how to protect myself."

"Well...you have me..."

"But not forever," Shy pointed out not knowing how her words pierced him like one of her daggers. The surly tone in the woman's voice dropped with a sigh and she shook her head, "I am sorry, I did not mean to sound quite so harsh."

"I know," Guy assured her.

"It seems I am always saying the wrong thing around you," Shy chuckled, "Perhaps I should say nothing at all?"

"Now that would be a miracle," Guy remarked causing Shy to laugh harder.

"May I have my knives back?" Shy asked, holding out her hands.

"No you may not," Guy said severely, "I will put these back in the armory and they will remain there until tomorrow evening. Is that understood."

"It is understood, but not desired," Shy crossed her arms.

Guy cared not for her silent temper tantrum. He slipped the blades in between his belt at his back. Shy, with a tempting smile, surprised him with a swift embrace, nearly knocking the breath from Guy's lungs for shock. "Thank you for the lesson," Shy said, "I do appreciate them, even if I do not always show it."

The surprised expression faded from Guy's eyes as he stared down at his student, "Shy, put the dagger back."

"Spoilsport," she whispered, lifting the back the belt and snapping him with it. She placed the dagger she had tried to pickpocket off of him back into its former station. With the same proud grin she turned her gaze upwards so that she locked eyes with Guy. The pride jarred in her eyes, turning to a frightened realization of how close she was to him. Guy was silent, his blue eyes calm as he stared into the storm-tossed gray. She felt herself calmed by the docile expression, it was not one she had ever thought him capable of. Her arms were still about him, she realized with a start, but his had never once wrapped themselves about her.

She released him, placing her hands over his chest. She could feel the faint drumming of his heart for a moment. It was a wild sound, as fast and as untempered as a man afraid, or in the midst of a fight. But his face was not one of a man in turmoil, this was highly discomforting, what was he thinking, then?

"I should go," Guy said, his voice nearly a whisper; strained, the last word nearly cracking under the pressure.

"Yes," Shy said, nodding a little to agree, as well as to bring her back to the world of the living. She felt as if she had been floating for a moment off in the ether. "Of course. Good-night,"

What a strange sensation, Shy reflected as she watched Guy leave. Her heart was pounding almost as wildly as she had felt Guy's had been. Shock. That must be it. And the aftermath of a particularly taxing practice session. Shy shrugged, satisfied with her answer and ignorant of any other explanation.

The night air was cooling and Shy exhaled with all the satisfaction of one who had spent her day actively. She walked with a leisurely gait over to the gardens and towards the tree which she had claimed as her own. She curled up against the root and the trunk, she had come to think of this spot as her nest, infinitely better than a bed, and infinitely more secure. A bed was a place of nightmares, where hands wandered over her body, giving her no peace; unyielding to her screams. And the walls in bedchambers held gray stone which seemed to stare down at her with scorn on their faceless surfaces, providing her no means of escape. The garden had leaves which rustled in the wind and hushed her, and the the trunk of the tree, no matter how rough and hard it was as a pillow it was far more comfortable than any cushion. She rolled over, delighting in the knowledge that there were no walls, and she could hear the wind and every night she slept out in the garden she was reminded she was a free person.

Shy did not know when she had fallen asleep. The birdsong in the morning awoke her. There was still a slight chill in the air and she shivered as she drew her knees up to her chest before stretching out again. She rose to her feet, shaking bits of leaves and twigs from her hair and rubbing a spot on her cheek where the trunk of the tree had left its mark. She raised her eyes to the sun, shielding them with her hand. It was a little later than she would have liked, but still not yet mid-morning. She might have to do without a breakfast, as Adela would no doubt want her company now that Gavin would be with Waleran for the day. That was a shame, Shy thought, a hand over her stomach, she was getting used to the idea of getting three full meals a day. Maybe if she headed over to the kitchen she might be able to get at least a crust of bread, if she was not given food she could steal a bite. She was quite skilled at grabbing food from under the servants' noses. Best leave thievery as a last resort, she concluded as she walked. Shy rolled her eyes at her own thoughts. She must be taking a liking to these people, if she had suddenly become hesitant of offending them.

Shy turned a corner, but quickly ducked behind a pillar at the sight which greeted her. A young man stood darkened against the furthest alcove, a young servant girl was pushed against the side wall, her hands drawn together as they tugged at the strings of her hair cap. "Matthew...I..I don't think this is a good time..." she stammered.

The young man pressed a kiss to the woman's neck regardless of her statement. "But I did not get to see you last night, and I miss you. Say that you missed me too?"

"I...I did, b-b-but..." Another kiss silenced her stuttering.

"Then, what's the matter?"

"We're going to get caught. An' I'll be throw outta the Castle for this. I won' get work so easily again...Matthew! Stop it!" She pushed at him, silently begging for him to look at her and take her worries seriously.

He sighed in annoyance, "You are too nervous, Mary. Really."

"Just...not now, Matthew. I should get back t' work, or I'll be missed. Captain or no Captain, if I'm not found there'll be questions t' answer."

"One more moment..."

"No! Matthew get off! I'm serious!"

Shy didn't know when she had walked over to the couple, but she suddenly she was aware of tapping the guard on the shoulder, startling the pair immensely. "The girl said to leave her alone," she said with an unnatural softness.

Seeing that it was neither servant nor guard who had intruded, Matthew brushed Shy's comments aside, "I don't think this is any of your business."

Shy wrenched the man away from the girl by his shoulder, "Leave her alone."

"Listen, just don't tell anyone, please," Mary begged, slipping away from Matthew, her eyes round and wide.

Any calm that could have been achieved by Mary's words were hastily cut off as Matthew gave Shy a rough shove out of his way, his mild annoyance at being interrupted by the woman turning into spiteful anger as she thought to push him aside. He brought his arm up to prevent Shy from pulling him away from Mary and in so doing managed to box her about the head. Shy reacted without thought; punching the man in the face. Blood pounded in her ears and it sounded like a roar of red. She was violently hoisted off her feet and thrown a pace back as Matthew reared up, shouting curses. Shy felt herself hitting blindly, certain that she found a target as her fists were met with the satisfying impact.

Somewhere out of her own insanity she heard Mary screaming. The commotion brought down assistance, and Shy felt herself being lifted bodily by several hands. She thrashed about as the guards attempted to subdue her. A part of her watched from outside of herself, a small, fragile voice of sanity attempted to alert her to the trouble she had caused.

Baser instincts were at work. And the hands which grappled for her were no more than other offenders and abusers. She felt her wrists clapped with shackles and her struggled increased tenfold at the feel of the chains upon her skin. She bucked and strained like a wild creature, a piece of rough cloth was forced between her lips to silence her harpy-cries. And trussed up as she was, she was taken to the Great Hall.

"What is going on here?" Gavin was the first to react once the doors opened. He rose from his chair, eyes narrowing in indignation at the sight of his friend being manhandled in such a fashion.

"My lord," the guard first bowed to Lord Waleran, who merely observed the scene with a silent look of surprise, and then bowed to Gavin, "The woman-"

"She attacked me!" Matthew shouted as he pointed at his bruising features, "Like a raving madwoman!"

This brought on several muffled protests from the bound woman. Gavin went over to Shy and with a glare to the other guards, removed the gag from her mouth. "I saw him trying to hurt a woman!" She spat, "He was pushing her against the wall and he would have had his way with her if I didn't stop him!"

"That's a lie!" Matthew accused, "I would never do such a thing!"

Shy writhed in her shackles, "Bring the woman in here then and she'll tell you the same!"

"Matthew," Gavin looked over at his Captain, "Is there truth in this?"

"No!"

"If you speak now I'll see no one else is punished for this," Gavin cajoled.

Matthew's eyes shifted to the floor, his head lowering, "Yeah, I won't get the punishment. _She _will."

"If you even think of hurting her for this I'll kill you!" Shy roared.

"Enough!" Gavin yelled to Shy. He turned his attention back to Matthew, "No she won't. No one will. You have my word, Mathew, and you know me well enough by now."

"It was Mary," Matthew muttered, "but not in the way that madwoman's thinking! We're...we're planning on marrying soon as it is. I was a little...overzealous with her...I'd never hurt her though! I'm not of that kind!"

"Thank you, Matthew," Gavin sighed.

"You're not going to turn Mary out of the Castle are you?"

"No, Matthew, I think we can let the matter end here."

"Thank you, sir." Matthew said, coming to attention. "What of the raving one?" He glared over at his attacker.

"I'll deal with her. You get on with your duties, and see you stay out of Mary's way until you're set up properly."

Matthew bowed and left the Hall, all the while shooting murderous looks at the furious Shy. Gavin looked at her with a pitying expression which did nothing to further Shy's dark mood. Waleran at last rose from his own seat at his desk, "I was hoping I would not have to deal with you, Shy," he said, "but I have heard of your behavior from my men of late. Rumors abound that you stalk the place like a wild thing, that you are seen at night roaming the yard and the gardens, threatening any of the guards who think to approach you. Now you attack one of my men?"

"My lord," Gavin said, "If I might suggest-"

"No, Gavin, I know what you will say and I know you mean well, but she has proven herself a danger to others and she must be shown that it will not be tolerated. A day in the stocks should cool her heels for a while," he sighed.

"And how will that help matters at all?" Gavin whispered, lowering his voice in hopes that Shy would not hear.

"We have enough trouble on our hands that we must deal with a mad woman as well? What other punishment is suitable for one who instigates fights among my soldiers?" Waleran retorted, his face grave, he did not desire to harm the woman, but he could not let her wander about the Castle unattended either.

"I...my lord...this may be a simple misunderstanding."

"Then let her take her punishment in hopes she will think before she acts the next time." He passed hand over his eyes, rethinking his harsh words, "Set the stocks up in the courtyard, no need to take her into the town, she does no warrant any uncalled stones from the people. Take her." Waleran signaled to the guards.

Further infuriated at being pushed along by the guards Shy fought back, swinging her weight into one of the men in an attempt to make an escape. In her mind, she was back in Rotherham after having tried and failed to break away from the manor-house. The guards had put her in shackles then as well, but it had not been to take her to the stocks. She was to spend a night chained in the cellar and she would not go back into the damp and the dark. "Get off of me!" She shrieked, "You can't take me," she hissed and spit like a cat. "I'll get out, just you wait!"

Gavin, who was leading the soldiers and Shy, looked on in horror at this untamed creature. Her eyes were wide and swirling with madness, it was as if she was no longer human. The sharp, intelligent, aloof woman he had come to know had been stripped away to her bare bones. She was led, cursing, kicking, biting, and screaming out to the courtyard. Gavin held her in place as the men set up the stocks, Shy tried to twist out of his grasp. "Shy," he said to her, "you make this worse for yourself, be calm."

"I can be calm," she laughed, "and quiet; oh so quiet you won't hear me or catch me the next time I escape! Maybe I'll make sure to slit your throat so you won't run after me, hm?" The laughter scraped through her throat. Gavin winced at the painful sound. Maybe it was suitable to keep her locked up for the day until her sanity was restored. She seemed liable to do far worse than give a man a black eye in her current state.

Once locked up in the stocks, Shy continued to struggle. From out of the corner of Gavin's eye, he saw Guy emerge from the gatehouse, a rolled up piece of parchment in his hands. His stride was quick yet leisurely. He paused as he caught sight of Gavin and what seemed to be a prisoner in the stocks. Curious, he began to walk over to investigate and ask Gavin what he was presiding over. On closer examination he realized the shape of the prisoner was familiar. Recognition turned into horror.

Gavin held up his hand, "Guy before you-"

"What is this? What in Hell do you think you are doing?"

"Guy, she attacked a soldier, Lord Waleran had to-"

"Attacked?"

Gavin sighed, "She saw one of the men with a woman and she misunderstood the situation. The man isn't hurt, but Waleran believed it best to give her a day in the stocks until she regained her senses. Guy, she's out of her mind you had better go..."

"Oh yes, go! Run away before I get free and kill the both of you!" Shouted the madwoman.

"Don't!" Gavin warned as Guy knelt before Shy. Shy snarled and gnashed her teeth as if to bite him, a crooked and cruel grin on her deranged face.

Guy looked at her, searching the mad expression in Shy's eyes for any sign of her former self. She did not seem to recognize him or truly see the world as it was around her. He searched for her in the swirling darkness flaring in her eyes.

"Shy, it's me..."

"Don't you touch me!"

"You know me, look at me."

"I'm going to get out. I am!"

"Please, Shy," Guy placed a hand on her trapped and bound one.

Shy's storm-eyes faltered and her brow knitted in angered confusion, "I..I..need to get out..."

"I will get you out, but you need to tell me what happened, Shy," Guy said.

"He...he was going to hurt her," Shy suddenly said, "I had to help her. I couldn't let him hurt her..." she babbled this over and over again until Guy put a stop to it.

Gavin spoke to her now, seeing her ceasing her struggling and her screaming, "No one was hurt."

Shy hung her head, her eyes still swirling, but with disbelief and confusion now, not madness. She looked up again and seemed to see Guy for the first time, "Guy?" she croaked. Then she closed her eyes, "My head..." Her skull throbbed with heavy beats as if someone had clubbed her over the head.

"Surely it would not be out of the question to let her have water?" Guy said, his voice a low growl in the back of his throat as he glared up at Gavin. He knew full well he had no right to blame him for Shy's punishment, but he was the only man of authority there, and he had done nothing to help her.

"No," Gavin shook his head, relieved that Shy's sanity seemed to be returning to her, "I will have water brought to her." He left his post, leaving Guy and Shy alone with one another.

"When he returns, I'll have him unlock you and let you out," Guy said.

Shy only shook her head, "Keep me in here."

"Shy, that's not necessary-"

"It is necessary. I could have hurt that man..." she closed her eyes, "I don't know what happened. I couldn't see, couldn't _think_," she groaned as a wave of pain assaulted her throbbing head.

"You reacted as you thought necessary. You could not have known that the situation was harmless."

Shy let out a breathless laugh, "Do not make excuses for me, Guy."

Guy read the self-deprecating light in Shy's eyes, the distant look which branded her as a thing less than human in her own mind. The thoroughly defeated woman would not respond to any of his awkwardly worded encouragements. Giving up himself, Guy lapsed into silence. This was only broken upon Gavin's return. He handed a flask of water to Guy who in turn raised it to Shy's lips. She gulped at the water greedily, the cool liquid soothed some of the intense pain from her headache, but not all.

"You had best get going," Gavin said to Guy. He nodded towards the now forgotten bit of parchment, rolled up at his feet, "You were on your way to see Lord Waleran were you not?"

"You take the map," Guy said, "It's marked with the areas for the soldiers to scout. Make the report yourself. I'll stay with Shy."

Shy did look up at him at this determined statement, shock and a hidden gleam of gratitude in her eyes. Gavin did not find this decision altogether agreeable. "Are you certain-"

"Yes, I am certain," Guy said and Gavin was forced to allow it. Shy strained her neck to look over at Gavin as she bent to retrieve the map. She looked at him with an apologetic glance, but a thankful one that he was allowing Guy to stay with her.

Any doubt Gavin had over giving Guy leave to stand guard over Shy left him as he attended to his duties. At the close of evening he found himself forced to inform his wife over the days events. Knowing Adela's growing attachment to Shy, he had hesitated in telling her of what had occurred. Stoic as ever, she told Gavin to bring Shy to the chambers set up for her. On his way to release Shy as it was, he readily agreed, even though he guessed Shy would not be pleased to be forced to sleep indoors, a thing she loathed, Gavin could not understand exactly why.

Returning to the courtyard, he saw Shy still kneeling on shaky legs, her head lowered. Guy sat with his head against the stocks, upright and alert as any guard dog. He must have been sufficient in keeping away any would-be onlookers. Guy was the first to notice Gavin's return. He rose to his feet as soon as he saw him.

"Come to let me out?" Shy asked with a tired, little sigh, "Thank Goodness, I thought my body would freeze in this position."

Gavin smiled at her needle-like humor, "I did not think you would forgive me for doing this to you."

"You did what was necessary," Shy replied as Gavin unlocked the stocks, raising the top off of her. "If such a thing happens again you would be wise to lock me up."

"Shy-" Guy tried to interrupt.

"Nevermind now," Shy said as she raised herself up and out of her small prison. She managed to stand up straight for half a minute before crumpling and falling to the floor.

Guy caught her, "Are you all right?"

"Yes, yes, but let's see you hold one position all day long and see if your legs don't fall out from under you," Shy said, feeling pins and needles prod at her legs and arms as the circulation was restored to them. She let out a thin squeak of a protest as Guy lifted her up, "Just a moment! I can walk, if you give me a space to breathe for half a second."

"Bring her to her chambers. Adela's waiting for her there," Gavin said, rolling his eyes at Shy's pathetic attempts to squirm out of Guy's grasp.

"No! Absolutely not! I'll not go there. Guy, you can take me back over to the garden."

"I believe we had better do as Gavin suggests this time."

As Guy began to walk, Shy grappled for balance. She placed her arms about his neck and shoulders, cursing as she did so and as he ignored her insistence that she was capable of walking. She quieted as they reentered the Castle. Shy stared up at Guy, wondering why he seemed intent upon staring down the end of the hall, almost as if he was straining himself not to look anywhere else. He looked down at her for a brief moment when his resolve seemed to fail. He quickly flashed his gaze away from her and Shy felt vaguely disappointed.

Guy kicked at the door to the bedchambers by way of knocking. He was answered by Lady Adela, who at once flung open the door and urged them in. "Gavin told me everything," she said as she bustled about towards the bed, pulling down the blankets and propping up pillows. "Set her down here."

Guy laid Shy down upon the bed gently. "Are you all right?" Adela asked, "I can go to a physician's and get you a draught to help you sleep? Any pain?"

"I...no..I'm fine..." Shy watched Adela as she seemed to spin about her. The genuine kindness in her eyes burned through her. She took her arms in her hands and held out her wrists to check for any marks. She did the same with her neck, pulling down the collar of her dress to see if she was bruised or cut. Shy swallowed a lump in her throat, "I'm fine..." she repeated hollowly.

"Sleep then," Adela said, "A day without food and little water will have taken a toll on you, but you should be fine by morning."

"That's what I was trying to tell you," Shy said with a wry grin. Adela patted her hand and turned to leave her. Shy gripped her friend's hand. She looked up at Adela, her gray eyes swimming with words she could not form upon her lips. Adela only smiled knowingly, "Rest now," she said again in a soft voice. No thanks were necessary.

Guy walked with Adela to the doorway, but even he could not mask his own worry from the astute woman. "Tread carefully, Sir Guy, you're liable to break her if you let her fall."

"She is a friend, she is in no danger from me."

The look of scrutinizing doubt made Guy feel like swallowing his own words. A gentle call from Shy caused Guy to look back. Adela took the handle of the door and shut it. Guy pulled a chair over to Shy's bedside. Shy had wriggled free from the blankets and was sitting with her knees against her chest, hugging herself. "She is a very good woman; Lady Adela..."

"She is."

"She's very kind," Shy continued to muse in a monotone as she stared at the opposite wall. "When she does not have to be with me. And it is not pity either. It is very distressing." This last was said with a seriousness unheard of from Shy before. She exhaled and rested her forehead against the top of her knees, rolling her head from side to side. "Something is wrong with me."

"Nothing is wrong with you."

She looked up at him, "I can feel the walls pressing on me," she jabbed at her chest, "I can feel it _here_. Like it's crushing me. I never lied upon a bed unless I was placed there. Peaceful sleep, rest and solitude that was earned by _me_ was only found in the stables or chained to a post out on Foster's grounds. I can't be in here. The walls and this bed," she flailed her arms and punched the mattress like a child in tantrum, "it's poison. That is not normal. Nor is it normal for someone to lash out at another so suddenly. Any other woman would have seen that that man meant the girl no harm. So, please, don't tell me nothing is wrong."

"Then we shall have to fix it."

"This is not like teaching me how to fight, Guy!" Shy said, frustrated with his simple answers and the gentle look in his eyes; that sincere look that made her grow weak in her own heart. "Shall you put me together piece by piece?" she said with a sarcastic snap. "_This_ is me!"

"Yes it is," Guy said, "This is you frightened and scared of your own nightmares. I know what that means. But that is not all you are."

Shy's lips curled at the corner and she held out her hand. Guy gave her his hand to hold and he was surprised with how she latched onto him. "For the life of me, Guy," she whispered, "I will never understand you." She sighed, blinking slowly as her own exhaustion crept upon her even as she tried to fight it off. "But you make me feel safe. Will you stay? The walls do not press on me so much while you are here."

Guy nodded, "I will stay." He interlocked his fingers with hers and prayed again for strength as Shy drifted off to sleep. He wished she had raged at him and thrown him out of the room and denied his help. He wished she did not feel safe with him. He wished she did not look at him with those storm-eyes of hers. He sighed, "Marian, my love, help me," he whispered in prayer, "What do I do?" But there was only the dead silence which answered him.

* * *

**A/N: I must confess, I'm having way too much fun with this story. :) Hope you are all enjoying it. Leave a review if you desire. **

**P.S: You didn't really think I'd let Guy forget about Marian that fast did you?  
**


	16. Tear Stains

XVI

Tear Stains

There were lights dancing on the opposite bank of the River Avon. The fire glow winked out at the two men on horseback. Gavin and Guy watched the clusters of fire-light with interest. Gavin clutched the reins of his horse as if to restrain himself from leading a charge right across the river. Guy leaned forward in the saddle, an amused expression on his dark features. Waleran's adversaries weren't even trying to conceal themselves. And why should they, Guy thought? They would know that Waleran had taken one of their own and had already questioned him. If Gavin and he knew of their numbers why attempt to not own it? Guy could have laughed at their boldness. It was something Robin Hood would have thought to do; make a stand, prove to your enemies you were not afraid to fight them no matter how strong they appeared to be.

How would he have fought off the outlaws of old, then? Simple, he would have sent out troops at dawn in an attempt to catch them by surprise. While they struggled with the first wave he would have a second brigade at the rear of their camp ready to entrap them. But Guy's brief time with the outlaws had taught him patience. Back when he was Master-At-Arms in Nottingham he only had the intelligence of a soldier. Now he had the advantage of knowing how an outlaw thought and fought. Robin would have expected so simple a trap. He would split up his forces too. Which meant that the dancing lights flickering invitingly on the opposite bank were a false signal. There were four bonfires lit. Hardly necessary, it seemed overmuch, like a statement and not like accommodations for the Imposter's men.

Guy did laugh. Somewhere across the river, he wagered there were at least a dozen men concealed in the darkness, keeping guard. "What are you thinking, Gavin?" Guy asked.

"I'm thinking I send at least six soldiers across the river at dawn and keep another troop nearby to box them in and keep them there," Gavin said.

"Do that," Guy agreed, "But ready a third troop with greater numbers to catch the few who are lying in wait in the darkness."

"I think I see all that is to be seen, Guy." Gavin gestured towards the lighted fires.

"You know that I was once—well, still am I suppose, an outlaw?" Guy asked as they rode back towards the Castle. Guy could not see Gavin's expression, but he guessed it was one of casual surprise. Guy smirked unseen, even knowing they could not see one another totally in the darkness of the night Gavin still would react with all the graciousness of a man used to a court life. Not waiting for a verbal reply, Guy went on, "During my time amongst the outlaws of Sherwood, I learned that they know exactly how a Castle Guard is most likely to attack. They'll expect your troops, and they'll expect you'll want to herd them close to the river bank. They will not expect you to have a third set of men waiting to overtake them and the few fighters they will have, no doubt, placed off and away from the campfires."

Gavin maintained his silence. Guy could make out his outline as they rode on. "That's quite an assumption," he said, "but not a half bad one," he laughed a little, speeding his horse onward into a gallop in his excitement. "My God, man, if we can be done with the bastards you're sure to get your fair share of the rewards, my friend."

"Rewards?"

"You will have assisted in the capture of traitors and rioters. Lord Waleran is sure to give you some of the credit. And, by God, if he does not I'll...I'll make you a Captain in the guard. My bloody second-in-command, if I'm able." Gavin laughed again, but Guy was no longer fully listening. Guy had not thought of such things in his assistance of Gavin and Lord Waleran. He had thought of proving himself a trustworthy man in order to receive leave to go. Now that rewards had been mentioned—the position of captain was not a great thing, surely, but it would make a respectful start. And if this scheme succeeded, what with his already great success in the capture of the Imposter's spy, Waleran might even give him greater position. Land? Oh, nothing as vast as Locksley, but a sizable enough estate to make a fresh start? Ambition burned through his blood and he realized that he had matched Gavin's excited gallop stride for stride without noticing how he had taxed his horse.

Gavin would make a suitable partner, even if he had to consider him above him in rank for a time. If he did well here he might even be able to show his face around the Prince again? And he would have heard the stories of his untimely death. How shocking it would be to prove that he could elude death; if that did not strike the fear of God in the Prince nothing would. The thought of which left Guy snickering quietly. Prince John might even rethink his decree to outlaw him. Seeing how he was in the good graces of a fellow nobleman, he might even be able to win the Prince's favor again. He was a fickle man, apt to change his mood with every new direction of the wind. The very idea sent his mind to turning. The rusted and dormant gears of ambition churned. How could he have forgotten all about the lure of power and politics?

"And of course Shy could be set up within the Castle. Perhaps Adela would take her on in our household? They're hardly apart now as it is." At Gavin's jovial statement the red mist of Guy's ambitious daydreams fell away. Shy did not want a life cooped up in a Castle, a maid servant to a noblewoman. She wanted the freedom of her own home, of the mill in Rotherham she had been taken from, and the father she had waiting for her. There was no chance of convincing her to give up such a thing as home for life surrounded by the gray walls she hated and the chores of a servant for the free occupation of a miller's daughter.

Guy could picture her clearly in his mind's eye. The storm eyes, sharp and high-boned cheeks, raven hair, and the delicate body that was finally beginning to take on the shape of a healthy woman again. She'd think he had betrayed her if he asked her to say. She would not stay for him. She'd leave as soon as she was given the chance, and if not, she'd escape by climbing up over the battlements. No, he could see her practically flying away from him. She couldn't leave on her own, for the world was suddenly so full of murderers and thieves. He had to go with her—it was more than that, he _wanted_ to go with her. To have that freedom, that peace, to be away from the world and the strain of it. And yet...the chance for position, the promises that he had made to himself and his own family...hadn't he learned already he could not have both? He felt himself being tugged in two directions. Perhaps Shy had been right in calling herself his punishment.

"I do not think any reward would be necessary," Guy said, finding his voice again. The very words caused him pain. They were lies he was telling to himself. He wanted the rewards. He wanted all the coin he could wring from the grateful nobleman and his Master-At-Arms. The fires of ambition had been lit once more. Guy knew they were impossible to douse once they had flared back into life.

* * *

Shy was walking the perimeter of the courtyard in the early glow of the morning. She had not slept well that night, nor had she the night previous. Unused to having her sleep disturbed by her own restless thoughts she decided it would be best to forgo the last few minutes of rest she might have been able to steal.

Nightmares she was used to, but restlessness was an alien thing entirely. When she desired it she could always slip into a quiet repose, even at her most troubled. She did not like the constant activity in her mind, something was nagging at her, and she was not certain of what it was.

The morning bell tolled out, disturbing the peace of the dawn, but that was all right for Shy; it had been too quiet for her liking anyway. She watched as the gatehouse doors were opened and two guards emerged, looking a little weary from having spent the night in the cramped quarters keeping watch. They'd be off to the barracks for some sleep, Shy wagered, and lucky for them to be able to seek out rest so easily.

The sound of footsteps behind her did not put her on the alert at first. Shy continued to meander about, but she could hear the steps steadily increase in pace and come closer to her. Shy sped up, only a little, so as not to make whoever was following her believe she had caught on. No, she must not start thinking like that again, that's how she had found herself in the stocks the last time. It would just be a servant crossing the yard, or a soldier on his way to the battlements to relieve one of the guards from duty. It was not a someone sneaking up on her trying to catch her and corner her. Not in broad daylight. It did not happen. And yet her heart quickened and her pulse beat in her ears like a drum and she tried to stifle the inner whistle of alarm blaring in her head.

When a shadow fell across her own she panicked and turned about with a squeak of fright, throwing a half-hearted punch across the face of the man coming up behind her. He cursed and backed away, a hand over his eye. "Damn you woman, did you think I taught you how to fight just so you could use my own tricks against me?"

"Guy?" Shy slapped both hands over her mouth as she stared, wide-eyed at her friend. "You...you shouldn't go sneaking up on people like that!"

"I apologize," Guy said, recovering from the blow, "Not a bad hit. You _have_ been practicing." He smirked at her as he dropped his hand, revealing a small cut upon his cheek, just under his eye.

"You're bleeding..."

"Oh?" Guy's hand went to the cut and he looked down at the few droplets of blood on his fingers. He rubbed them back into the pads of his fingertips with a shrug. "Just a scratch."

"I hurt you."

"Don't flatter yourself," Guy said, noting the stricken expression on her face.

Shy raised her hand and wiped at the blood upon his face. Guy went very still and silent, concentrating on breathing in and out. Shy brushed her fingers along the cut and the bruise beginning to form upon Guy's cheek. She let her hand rest upon his cheek even after all the blood had been wiped away, unaware that she was still caressing him. "I'm sorry," she said so sincerely Guy nearly forgot to breathe. "I would never want to hurt you."

"Don't cry," Guy said softly. A thin teardrop fell down Shy's pale face. She blinked in surprise and backed away. The last time she had cried was when she had been a child. She had forgotten what it meant to cry; the lack of numbness within her and the icy break of feeling startled her. She had lost her tears to frightening things. Why should so simple an action make her want to curl up and sob like the scared child she had been so long ago?

Shy dabbed at her eyes, although no more tears threatened to fall after the single drop. She laughed with quiet gasps, shaking her head back and forth with a humorous glint in her eyes. "Forgive me," she sniffed, "I have not been sleeping well these past few nights. I do not know what has come over me."

"It is not nightmares?" That's right, Shy had forgotten he knew about her nightmares. She shook her head and he seemed to relax. Shy smiled, did he really concern himself with her haunts? His eyes did seem to reflect deep compassion.

"Anyway," Shy was happy to redirect the subject, "What are you doing out here? On your way to the gatehouse? You do often take up the watch at this time of day, don't you? I never see you outside until well into the latter part of the day."

"Yes," Guy cleared his throat, happy to follow Shy's lead. "Actually I was looking for you."

"Me? Why?"

"Well, Waleran is holding a council and noblemen from the shire are going to be arriving at the Castle to meet with him. I thought you'd like to avoid them and stay with me in the gatehouse."

Shy was willing to bet that the presence of the noblemen was incidental and the same invitation would have been extended to her had they not been arriving. Her answer would have remained the same without the threat of a class of men she dreaded and naturally feared as prey fears its predator. "I think that is a wonderful idea."

She walked beside Guy with an easy stride, her eyes glinting and her lips smiling, but she could still feel the tight knot of tears unraveling like a ball of yarn. Every time he looked over at her she felt it unwind a little further. A part of her longed just to run away without explanation; find some quiet corner where no one would see her, and give into her sobs. Why did she desire so childish an indulgence? Guy was fine, and he had understood her reaction had merely been one of surprise, but what if she had not only had the use of her fists available to her? What if she had had a knife? She would have overreacted with weapon, she knew she would have. She could have seriously wounded him and the thought of doing such a thing to him made her ill. Yet why would such a thing matter so much?

Guy opened the doors to the gatehouse tower and led her up the winding staircase to the rooms which overlooked the bridge leading into the Castle. From up here, she could see down the sloping hill towards the town. She could just make out a few peasants walking and wagons rolling past. Shy sat upon the ledge of the window, bringing her knees to her chest and hugging herself. She leaned back against the nook in the wall and was quite content to stare out at the world. She turned her head to look over at Guy as he shut the door. There was no feeling of dread at having been shut away with only a man for company. Brennan would often take her into one of the studies in the manor at Rotherham when he knew no one else was about, just so he could make sure she would not be bothered for at least one day. She could conjure his image up in her mind's eye immediately and this sent a line of pain down her heart. Had she any right to miss him when he had tried to hurt her the same as all the rest of those men?

Guy must have seen her expression fall, for he called her over to him and Shy abandoned her position at the window. He would show her some of the records and the maps; he had promised to teach her a little of strategy, hadn't he? Shy was a more than willing student; however, not quite the most attentive. Guy spoke and explained, but Shy was hardly listening. Her eyes flickered from the map up to his face. A smile was on her lips and it would not be dashed away, even if he did look over at her from time to time. Shy remembered how this man had been when he had first awoken from his injuries in the slave cart. He was a wild and harsh man, Shy knew he still was. Yet, seeing the look of near contentment on his face just for having a companion wrought such a change of view. Shy was aware this was not the man the world saw. She had seen Guy behave callously, unfeelingly towards others, as he had done with her before he had come to know her—and as she had done to him as well, now that she thought of it.

Guy looked over at Shy, sensing she was not fully listening to him. Eventually, the subject shifted away towards idle conversation, something he was not exactly skilled at, but which surprisingly came easy for him today. Shy was by far a better conversationalist, but he knew that was not the case with everyone. She lived up to her namesake, and her moments of rage and anger were only weapons to protect herself to ensure she would be left alone. But for him she allowed herself to speak freely.

They had only known one another for a few weeks, but it felt as if a lifetime had come and gone in that short span of time. Guy was almost certain Shy was nearly as contented as he was. They had found a good life here. Was there a reason to disrupt this?

Shy went over to the window to look at the carriages beginning to arrive. Guy leaned back in his chair, watching her. She had a curious look in her eyes, and she stood profiled against the sunlight. She was wearing the plain, blue dress he had found for her after their haphazard escape. It was a pretty sight. Shy lacked any of that grace and beauty Marian had that had first held his attraction. This woman before him was perched like a hawk's hatchling at the window, waiting to be able to fly. There was that rough coat about her slender figure that signaled to anyone that she had lived a poor girl's life, no matter how elegant her dress or her manner of speech. Marian had always had a sincere look about her, even when she was at her most deceitful. Shy held a look of derision and aloofness in her eyes, but when it fell there was an almost childish happiness left there, a raw naivety that had been suppressed. With Marian he had fallen in love with her instantly—well, no, he had certainly been enthralled by her beauty at first sight, but the love had come upon him suddenly. As he looked at Shy he knew he did not love her, at least not with the same all consuming passion he had with Marian. He cared for this discarded, and broken waif; he could try to convince her to stay with him maybe even marry him so as not let her live the life of a servant. He could grow to love her and perhaps she might even come to care for him. The notion vanished almost as soon as it came. Shy would not want to be forced to care for anyone if she did not wish it. If she ever managed to find peace within herself, she was a woman that would marry for love. She was a peasant girl, and allowed the luxury of marrying a man she cherished. It was a shame, Guy sighed, if they had met at another time he might have loved her instantly. They seemed perfectly matched.

"You have been staring at me," Shy pointed out with an amused tone. She did not look over at him, only remained staring out the window.

"Forgive me," Guy said, averting his eyes. "But there is little to look at in this room." He saw a smile appear on her face and she turned to look at him. Guy tilted his head to one side, "I'm surprised you have not been disturbed by these cramped conditions."

Shy glanced about the room, and replied, with a note of surprised, confident triumph, "Really? I hadn't noticed at all."

* * *

Shy was rather like a wolf let out of a cage. Having spent most of her day up in the gatehouse tower she was more than happy to finally be outside once more. She went at her evening lessons with unusual vigor. She felt rather like a child, and she did not know whether or not to be slightly ashamed of this fact. She indulged in her joy without restraint as a child would be prone to doing, and yet she did not let Guy see this. The day, while it had been peaceful, was passing too quickly and Shy was desperate to hold onto the last vestiges of sunlight.

She tucked and rolled away from Guy's strike. She was getting good, she could hold her own against him now. She kept the knife tight in her hands, elbows tucked in and feet balanced upon the ground. Her head was full of Guy's reminders on how to stand, how to move, what to watch for. He had taught her well. She was confident; she was happy—no that was not a skill one learned, strike that from her thoughts, that was not what she had meant to think.

She was too fast for him to catch tonight, and for the first time he seemed frustrated by this. She enjoyed his frustration, it meant she was doing well. Another nimble dodge, and she came at him again. She caught sight of the small cut she had given Guy on accident that morning. That was not fair, she had struck him, but she had not even given him a chance to strike her back. So as she turned out and away from the curve of Guy's blade, she let her arm lag. The knife bit into the palm of her hand as it sliced at her skin. She curled her hand into a fist, so as not to let Guy see.

"Enough!" Guy said, panting, "Enough, that's fine for tonight."

"Oh? Tired so soon?" Shy grinned with the teeth of a wolf.

"You'd run me into the ground and trample over me as soon as I was down," Guy said with a slight laugh, sheathing his knife blade without examining the small droplet of blood on the tip.

"So I would," Shy replied. A little rivulet of blood appeared between Shy's fingers. She squeezed her fist as she felt the blood drip, but this only caused more blood to flow. She uttered a small curse at her stupidity and unclenched her hand to look at the wound.

"Shy, you're hurt!"

She merely laughed and waved her bloody hand, "Now, I suppose, we are even."

Guy took her injured hand and examined it. "Did you let me do this to you on purpose?" He asked and she had no choice; she shrugged her shoulders by way of affirming his suspicion. Guy sighed heavily. "You are a fool."

"Will you let me go? I can tend to it myself, and it doesn't even hurt."

Guy curled Shy's fingers back up around the gash. "Let me."

"You?" Shy could hardly take him seriously.

He nodded, "Contrary to whatever belief is running about in your head, I know a little of how to treat wounds, and with one so slight as yours I think you might trust me. Come with me."

Shy followed Guy into the Castle and into his chambers. She stood in the middle of the room, her hand clasped over her bleeding one. Guy directed her to sit down and she did so. Shy had to restrain herself from laughing as he set down a pitcher of water and brought over a small basket of bandaging cloths that had been left over from the last time Shy had re-bandaged his own wound. Guy tore off a strip of cloth and dabbed it in the water. Shy held out her hand and allowed him to clean the blood off of it. She tried to restrain the low hiss of pain as the water stung the gash.

"It's not that bad," Guy commented, finally able to see the cut on her palm, which was no more than a thin tear in her skin.

"And when did you become the physician, eh?" Shy laughed.

Guy smirked, "When you have to take care of a younger sister who had a talent for getting into scrapes, you become adept at handling such matters."

"You have a sister?" Shy did not start at this revelation. Instead she smiled warmly. Was she back in Nottingham with this brother of his? And why would he not tell her, he had already informed her of one of his siblings?

"Had," Guy said quickly and Shy's eyes fell.

"Oh..." she swallowed her momentary embarrassment, "I'm sorry."

"So am I." He fell silent as he bandaged her hand. He had not given much thought over his sister's death. By all accounts, Isabella had died a long time ago and he had killed her himself when he gave her over to Squire Thornton. He should have known something was wrong with that man, he should have seen the signs and he should have listened to Isabella's pleas. But the money...it had been everything at the time. And for his satchel of silver he had sold his own sister to a devil. His own sister whose nightmares he had chased away, whose tears he had dried, whose sicknesses he had nursed and scrapes he had tended—sold away for a chance for a new life.

"She was very lucky," Shy said, sensing his guilt and grief, "to have a brother like you."

Guy pressed a kiss to the palm of her bandaged hand, forgetting for only a moment the barrier he had constructed for himself against her. Shy's gasp of surprise brought him back to reality. He released her hand at once and stood up, stammering apology after apology. Shy kept her hand close to her chest as if she was shielding a precious treasure. She did not seem afraid of him as she approached him. He looked furious with himself for what he had done and Shy was unsure of how to properly respond to such concern over her own welfare. He would not accept her excuses that she was fine, not angered or frightened at all. So, Shy reached for Guy's hand and brought it to her lips and kissed it. "There," she announced letting his hand fall back down to his side, "now we are even."

* * *

**A/N: For a while there, I completely thought that I was still on chapter ten or something! How in the blazes is this sixteen already? This isn't even a quarter of the way finished! Oh well...hope you all are in the mood for a good long read. :) More to come soon! **


	17. Path of Least Resistance

XVII

Path of Least Resistance

Shy watched Adela as she attended to her needlework. The noblewoman, aware that she was being observed, put aside her sewing and glanced up at her friend. "Have you finished your sewing or are you simply trying to tell me you're bored?"

Shy smiled, her head dipping, "Perhaps I was."

"It's not your hand is it?" Adela gestured towards Shy's bandaged hand. "Is it bothering you?"

Shy curled her hand and drew it in closer to her chest. "No," she replied, "It isn't hurting me at all."

"Would you like for me to re-bandage it?" Adela offered, "You must have had those bandages on since last night."

"Oh, no please don't," Shy replied, "Guy did a more than suitable job of cleaning the wound—that is, I shouldn't need to tend to it for a time..."

Adela raised an eyebrow. "Guy did this, did he? He did not strike me as the type of man capable of such a skill."

"He is certainly a man of many hidden qualities," Shy concurred with a little laugh as she traced a finger along the bandages on her hand. Adela looked rather pleased with the expression upon her companion's face.

"Careful," Adela hazarded some light teasing, feeling secure enough in her budding friendship with the former slave-woman, "one might start thinking you cared for the man."

"But I do." This was said so simply, Adela felt her jaw grow slack as she whipped her head up to stare at Shy. Shy stared back at her with honesty in her eyes. She might have laughed at the shocked expression on the Lady's features. "My lady, Sir Guy is my friend, should I not care for him?"

"Oh." Now Lady Adela flushed pink and looked back down to her needlework. She fingered the laced edges uncomfortably, "Forgive me, I-"

"My lady, I know what you supposed me to mean," Shy replied, "and any assumption of the kind would prove entirely false." Her brow knitted at her words, and it was quite apparent that she herself was not certain if she agreed with her statement. She jabbed the needle into the center of her work repeatedly, picking at completed stitches, undoing them and redoing them in a fidgety repetition.

"Pardon, Shy, but you seem to be in distress." Even a less observant woman than Adela could have seen the discomfort radiating from Shy.

"If I am it is only due to this accursed sewing!" Shy jerked her arm, tossing the near completed needlework onto the floor. "It is so quiet and monotonous. I watched my Lady Thea sew when she would sit with me and I wondered how she did not scream for boredom!"

Adela placed her own needlework onto her chair as she stood up and retrieved Shy's fallen piece. "I'm sorry, I did not realize such an activity would bring back any unwanted memories. We can find some other occupation for ourselves."

"No...no, my lady, I apologize," Shy leaned back in her chair, a hand over her face as she squeezed at her temples and ran her hand through her hair, "I have not been sleeping; my temper is short. Look," she took the needlework from Adela's hands, "I will return to my work without further complaint."

Adela stilled Shy's sporadic movements with the needle. "This is not an order, Shy," she said calmly, "I am not forcing you to do anything you dislike."

"It will keep me from unpleasant thoughts, my lady," Shy muttered with downcast eyes.

"That will not do," Adela plucked the needlework from Shy's lap and set it aside atop the table. She went back to her chair and dragged it over so that she could be closer to her friend. "Something is troubling you. Tell me what it is."

"My lady..." Shy sighed, beginning to protest.

"You will feel better if you unburden yourself to someone. That is what friends are for."

Shy could not help, but smile at the Lady. She was indeed a very kind woman, and far stronger than she gave herself credit for. She had learned of her past without flinching and had taken on the responsibility of befriending her. Shy could not deny she had grown rather fond of the woman herself, and that is why she felt the need to spare her sensibilities distress over listening to her own stories. "There was a man I knew in Rotherham, he was kind to me as well, and I cared for him. I was wrong about him. That is all."

"Shy that won't do."

"Oh, why not?" Shy banged her fist down upon the arm of the chair, "It is so much easier without details!" Her eyes shifted, and yet Adela said nothing. Shy passed a hand over her eyes almost in defeat. "Sir Brennan came to Rotherham when I was...no I do not know my age, seventeen? He was one of Lord Foster's captains, some second son of a rural nobleman. I never asked. Brennan was a fool, I think he actually believed the codes of chivalry he was taught. He thought I was only a servant, but when he learned what I was, what my...role was in the manor he...he seemed _embarrassed_! I mean, can you imagine? He begged _my_ forgiveness for not noticing! After that there was always some excuse for him to be near me. He could keep me from the other soldiers, but not from Lord Foster. W-w-when my lord would...take me, Brennan was always there afterwards. He would wash my face and hands, and hold me until I fell asleep. He promised he'd free me. He said he'd buy my freedom. I told you he was a fool. There came a night...I will not speak of it...he would not wait any longer, he told me to make myself ready to escape, he would come for me later to be certain I was properly set up. Before I could leave there was a price to pay. Brennan came for me, like the other men. He held me and begged me and said such strange and horrible lies! No, my lady, don't look at me like that I will not tell you what he told me!"

"I cared for him, Lady Adela, he was my sweet and foolish knight. I have turned that day over in my mind and I can find no reason for his actions save that all men must succumb as he did. And Guy...he acts as Brennan once did, speaking words of protection and kindness only to betray me if I let my guard down. And, my lady, it is so hard!" Shy gasped as she felt tears spill down her face, "I am so tired. I want to care for Guy as I once did for Brennan, but he will see my weakness. He will know he could have me on my back in a moment!"

"Shy," Adela took her hand, "Perhaps you are wrong about this. No, I am certain that you are. Whatever this Brennan did to you, you can not compare him to Guy. That is unfair. Sir Guy has been nothing but kind to you."

"I know," Shy replied, "that is why I must not let my guard down. I nearly did once, but not again. I would not see his kindness erased from him. I want to remember him only as my dearest friend and not a man who betrayed and abused me."

"Oh, this is intolerable!" Adela exclaimed, much to Shy's surprise and slight dismay. Shy had thought Adela would be able to understand her plight, but here she was huffing and looking for all the world as if she had heard the most tiring, trivial matter. "Shy, if I tell you something do you promise never to speak of it again?"

"My lady?"

"Gavin told me something in the strictest of confidences concerning Guy. I was not to tell you, but I see it would be better if I did. Tell me you will be silent about this? I will not break my husband's confidence in vain."

Shy only nodded, she rubbed at her drying tears with the back of her dress sleeve. Her skin feeling cracked and raw from the tear stains upon her cheek. Adela licked nervous lips and leaned in closer to Shy, as if the very walls of the chamber were likely to overhear them and tell her secrets to anyone who occupied their rooms. "Gavin saw Guy in the chapel a few days ago, the morning after the Imposter's attack on the Castle. He was praying, Shy."

"Praying? What for?"

"For the strength never to let you know how much he was growing to care for you lest you mistake his intentions for those of abuse!"

"I don't understand..."

"Shy, he _knows_ any sign of affection on his part would be seen by you as one of abuse. He has tried so hard not to let you see, but I have seen, and so has my husband."

Shy reflected back upon the night previous when Guy had kissed her hand. He had had a look of utter horror on his face as he looked up at her, eyes full of contrition. She recalled his apologies, and how he had backed away from her in case she had wanted to run. She also remembered how he had looked at her when she had kissed him as well. Such disbelief, almost the same expression she had had upon her face. As if he could not understand how a woman would be so honest and kind to him just as she could not believe a man would be so undemanding and gentle. No, this went against everything she relied upon! How easy the temptation to want to go to him, let him hold her, and finally find some semblance of rest for her tired and aching mind.

"I will not tell a soul what you have told me, my lady, and that is an end to it," Shy said, resuming her needlework once more. She forced the needle to be steady in her hand, using all her powers of concentration to apply herself to the task and not dwell on the possibility of Guy ever caring for her.

* * *

Lyle sat in the corner of his cell, his head resting against the bars. He still cradled his mangled hand close to his chest, even though it had long since stopped throbbing in pain. He flexed his still bandaged hand, not willing to glance down at it and be reminded that he was a cripple for life.

"If ya wanna be fed, I'd suggest ye get away from the bars." The slurred voice of the jailer broke thought Lyle's drifting thoughts. He looked up at the jailer, the man was a drunkard, Lyle had never seen him fully sober in the few days that he had been languishing in his prison cell. Lyle rolled his eyes, but did not move.

"I said shift yourself," the jailer ordered, giving Lyle's leg a kick from between the bars. Lyle grunted in annoyance and rose to his feet, his arms up to show submission and that he would comply with the jailer's order.

Lyle lunged, counting on the inebriated man's slow reaction time. He reached his hands through the bars and brought the jailer's head forward so that it connected with the hard metal with a dull crack. The jailer was unconscious before he fully comprehended what had happened. Lyle remained holding the man, and then, with expert caution, he let the jailer sink to the floor, making sure he landed close enough to the bars that he could reach around and grab the chain of keys attached to the jailer's belt. Lyle rewarded himself with a low chuckle, even a cripple like him could still best a dull witted man like this poor bastard. The keys clinked together as Lyle brought them up to the lock. He fumbled blindly about for where to insert the key, the problem being, there was more than one key on the chain. He tried each one systematically, always keeping one eye trained on the door leading into the dungeon. It was only a matter of time before one of the guards entered to check up on him and the jailer.

At last, the key turned in the lock and Lyle felt the door give way as he pushed it outwards. As he stepped outside, Lyle dropped the key chain on top of the jailer's stomach. "Thank you, my friend," he whispered. He knelt down to see if there was anything else worth pinching off of the man. He came away with a small dagger. He smiled, attached the dagger and its sheath to his own belt. He patted the jailer's cheek, "Pleasant dreams, mate."

This would be clumsy getting out. Lyle's left hand, while unmarred, was almost entirely useless to him. He was able to get the door open without much disturbance. The poor guard did not know what hit him when Lyle slashed the dagger across his throat. Lyle stepped over the body with a grimace as the man remained choking in a pool of his own blood. The mortally injured man grabbed a hold of Lyle's ankle in a pathetic attempt to stop him. Lyle kicked at him, more out of fright that the man would not die then any fear he would be captured again.

Out of the dungeons at last, Lyle ran through the lower corridors of the Castle. He needed to get to the East Gate, that would be closest to the camp grounds across the river. This was not going to be easy. He had not planned his escape this far ahead. He cursed as he turned only to spot a patrol of guards heading in his direction. He quickly turned and dashed away, but it was enough; seeing the fleeing shadow, the patrol captain quickly called for the alarm to be raised and sent three of his men to apprehend the criminal.

Lyle wound his way up the staircase with the three soldiers following close behind him. He had no fear of being killed, he knew he was too valuable as an informant to be disposed of so easily, but he was damned if he went back into the cell again.

By the time Lyle had emerged into the courtyard the bell was already tolling the alarm, and he could see soldiers lining the battlements and the shouts of questions as to what was going on. Good. If they were all in confusion as to the problem he could easily sneak away before they realized they had all been looking for him. It was dark, and many of the soldiers would have been woken from their bunks, it was the perfect time to get away.

"Excuse me," a voice from behind asked him, a distinctly feminine voice, "What's happening?"

Lyle turned to look, dagger in one hand. He could just make out the features of the wild woman, Shy, in the dark she must have mistaken him for one of the soldiers. He still had his tunic and trousers, it was a simple blunder indeed for someone not of the household to make. Shy screamed as Lyle pulled her to him, holding the dagger at her throat. He pressed the tip to her skin. Shy hissed, but silenced herself. "Now, listen to me," Lyle whispered in her ear, "I don't want to hurt you. I really don't, understand me? I have no quarrel with you. I just want to get out of here. We are going walk over to the East Gate, yeah? And you are going to ask them to open it. I'm going to take you with me out of the Castle, shh, don't struggle, you'll stab yourself. After we leave the Castle I'll let you go. I don't want to hurt you, but I will, if you don't do as I ask. Understand me?"

Too afraid to nod her head without the dagger biting into the sensitive flesh of her throat she managed a shaky, "yes." Lyle called her a good girl and made her walk across the courtyard to the gate. Shy walked slowly, her head raised as far as she could to avoid the dagger. Her eyes darted in nearly every direction. She could see the soldiers on the perimeter of the battlements, but if she called out to them the man was sure to cut her throat. She strained her eyes to make out a face in the darkness, but she could not recognize any man. She had been such a fool! The moment the alarm had sounded she should have gone inside the Castle instead of letting her curiosity getting the better of her and waiting for someone to come along and tell her what was happening; well, she certain had an idea now! Keep calm, she told herself, just do as the man said and all would be fine.

They walked in tandem as they neared the gate. "Tell them to raise the gate," Lyle prompted.

"Raise the gate," Shy croaked out, her voice suddenly void of all energy. Her throat was completely dry. She hated herself at that moment for allowing her fear to get the better of her.

"Louder," Lyle ordered jabbing the blade under her chin.

Shy yelped in pain and shouted, "Raise the gate!"

This succeeded in gaining the guards attention. "Shy? What..." It was Gavin! Shy felt her legs buckle with relief. "Gavin!" She cried, "Gavin, help-"

"Archers to me!" The shadowy outline of the second man beside Gavin roared, Shy realized that was the lord Waleran's voice. The guards stationed over the gate trained their arrows onto Lyle and Shy.

"Listen!" Lyle called, not anticipating the gate to be held by the Master-At-Arms and his Lord, "Listen, no one has to get hurt. Just open the gate and let me out and I promise the woman will come to no harm."

"Let her go and I guarantee you won't be killed," Gavin countered.

"If you kill me, you'll kill her as well!" Lyle made certain Shy was placed in front of him like a shield, emphasizing the dagger at her throat. "I don't want to kill a woman! There's no honor in that."

"There's not an honorable bone in your body, bastard," Waleran spat.

"Temper," Lyle caused Shy to yelp again as he pressed the blade against her, "Let's remain calm. Open the gate, or I kill the girl."

He side stepped, keeping Shy close. Shy felt his stance shift and while his balance was compromised Shy kicked his leg out from under him. Lyle slid forward and to the side as he tried to recover his balance. Shy cried out as the knife slashed a thin line from her chin to the base of her throat. Shy gripped Lyle's arm and pinned him to the ground, twisting his hand in order to get him to drop the knife. Surprised at the sudden attack, Lyle tried to wriggle out of Shy's grasp. He kicked her off of him, but Shy tucked and rolled away, only to spring upright and punch the recovering man in the jaw. Lyle fell and Shy placed both hands on his throat, slamming his head into the ground as he struggled until at last he slumped into unconsciousness. Shy sat down with a thump, stunned at what she had done. She had hardly thought about it, she had merely reacted. She felt blood dripping down her throat and she placed a hand over the cut, that had been inches away from a prominent vein. She would have to bandage that, she thought dully, her mind working in slow steps.

She felt someone kneel down beside her and she eventually recognized Gavin. He helped her to her feet as two other soldiers took care of the unconscious Lyle. Gavin patted her on the back as she stared at her attacker as he was taken away. "Come on," Gavin said, "we're going to go to the Great Hall."

"Why?" Shy asked stupidly as she walked with him.

"Because, you delightful mad creature, my lord wishes to speak to you, and we need to get this nasty gash tended to."

"Oh," Shy said, "am I to be made an honorary soldier?"

Gavin laughed uproariously, "Would you like that?"

Shy felt some of the shock wearing off as she walked at the steady pace Gavin had set for them. She managed a grin, "Perhaps." For once Shy did not mind that a man's arm was draped over her shoulder, she was glad for the offered support and it was not as if she distrusted Gavin. "Where is Guy?" she asked.

"He was at the North Gate when the alarm sounded. He'll be coming shortly, and he'll be told," Gavin said as he opened the doors to lead her inside. Shy sighed, content with that for now, although she could not deny that she desperately wanted to see him.

Waleran had only just arrived in the hall when Gavin and Shy entered. He gestured towards one of the empty seats and Shy sat down. There was a servant already summoned and she began to tend to the gash on Shy's throat. "That was a very brave and foolish thing you did, my dear," Waleran remarked, "you could have done as Lyle had ordered and spared yourself. Surely none of us would have faulted you."

"My lord," Shy swallowed hard, the bandages being wrapped about her throat were tight and uncomfortable, "he said there was no honor in fighting a woman. I begged to differ."

Waleran laughed, "And rightly so, in your case. You've given me back a valuable prisoner, Shy, and regardless of your intentions, it is an act I won't forget. I'm in your debt."

"A nobleman in my debt?" Shy raised an eyebrow, "Now that is a thing _I _won't soon forget."

The doors to the Great Hall burst open and Guy of Gisborne came walking inside like a thunderstorm. "Guy!" Shy called, her face nearly splitting with her smile, "Tell me what you think of my new scarf?" She joked, pointing to the bandages at her throat.

"My lord," Guy bowed stiffly, his voice dangerously low in the back of his throat. He turned to Shy, "You...my chambers..._now_." He could barely speak for fury.

"Now, see here, Guy-" Gavin began, but he was silence by the lightening look of rage.

"It is all right," Shy stood up and approached Guy, unafraid of the brewing storm. "Goodnight, my lords." She did not bow, but her polite words was certainly a refreshing turn for the better.

Guy merely turned on his heel and led Shy out of the Hall and into the outside corridor. Shy did not speak until she was spoken to and she followed behind Guy, noticing he was practically shaking with rage. Still, Shy was more than happy to be with him; now more than ever. If she could have, she would have reached out and taken hold of his arm and brought him to her and told him just how glad she was to see him at that moment. But Shy found her arms limp at her side, and her fears stronger than her will. She was ushered into his chambers and as soon as the door was shut the storm broke with a thunderclap, "_What were you thinking?"_

"I was thinking about saving my life!"

"No...no! What were you doing outside after the alarm had been raised? Meandering about the courtyard? Have you no sense of self-preservation? You are _lucky_ the man wanted a hostage! You are _lucky_ he did not kill you! Is he dead?"

"I assumed someone had informed you?"

"I did not stay to hear the whole story," Guy shouted with a dismissive turn of his head.

"No," Shy said calmly, "He is only unconscious."

"Good," Guy growled, "Because I am going to kill him myself." The murder in his voice scared Shy for just a moment. She had never seen the black violence that lingered within Guy before. At least not of this caliber and it caused Shy to back away towards the wall.

"I thought you would be pleased," Shy said, "I only did what you taught me to do! I defended myself."

"I never expected you to ever use what I had taught you! Why would I be pleased to know this? One wrong move, Shy, and he could have killed you. If your balance had been off, or your guard down—and Shy you always forget about keeping your guard up! That is it."

"What is it?"

"You are forbidden from going out into the courtyard alone."

"What?"

"You are to sleep in your chambers like a normal woman! And you will be escorted by a soldier—two soldiers, if you ever wish to leave the Castle halls." Guy paced about like a stalking panther.

"Guy you can not keep me anywhere I do not wish to be!" Shy shouted, outraged at his reaction.

"Yes, I can," Guy snapped, "I am going to take you to your room and I am going to lock you inside if I have to."

"Keep me prisoner then?"

"If I have to to keep you safe," Guy's rage seemed to leave him, a few flashes of lightening illuminated the irrational anger still coursing through him. Shy sighed, hardly outraged enough to argue with him in his current state.

"I did not mean that," he finally said.

"I know..."

"You're not my prisoner."

"I know that too."

Guy slumped against the wall as he ran a hand through his hair and over his haggard features. His eyes would not meet her own. Shy approached him as gentle as rain following a fire. She placed a hand upon his shoulder urging him to look at her. He would not oblige her until she tilted his head upwards, forcing him to look her in the eye. "I...I would have been frightened too," she said with soft hesitation, "if I had heard you had been attacked. I would have called you an idiot for allowing yourself the opportunity to be hurt. And...I would have told you I would not tend to you at all, of course, as I was already bandaging you up." She heard a short exhale of what could only be a reluctant laugh. "I'm told, that is what people do when they care for one another."

Shy let her hand rest upon Guy's cheek. "And I care for you very much, Guy." She smiled as she admitted this to him, and for the shocked look upon his face. "I do," she reaffirmed. "And am I wrong to think that you...you might care for me as well?"

"Shy...I..." He stammered, trying to find the right excuse. Shy merely leaned in close and pressed her lips to his. She shuddered as she touched him, but it was not one of fear or revulsion. The kiss itself was light and gentle, a little clumsy as Shy shivered. For a moment Guy did not respond, willing himself to remain impassive, willing himself to not feel the heavenly pressure against him and the need she wrung from him. Guy allowed himself a single motion, he tilted his head and caught Shy's lips in one quick movement. There. He had one kiss from her. That was enough. But Shy was not intimidated. She kept her lips against his, pulling, and urging him. When she let her instinct take over her own inhibitions and her tongue darted out to find his, Guy broke. He pulled her close to him, finally embracing her. New confidence filled Shy at this and she placed her arms about him. She could feel his tongue in her mouth, but it was not invasive, and his lips did not force hers apart, nor did he bite at her. He was being gentle with her, Shy could feel the restraint in his motions, he was not used to being so tender with a woman was he? She was more grateful than she could ever express for his reserve. She pulled away from him first, but did not move out of his embrace. They were both breathing heavily and Shy could still feel her lips tingling with sensation. "How did that feel?" Guy whispered in her ear.

"Warm," Shy replied with a smile upon her face. Guy was kissing her cheek and neck, his fingers tracing the bandages at her throat with a soft touch, as if attempting to make the wound disappear. Her head had stopped hurting and for the first time she felt strangely tired. Guy did not seem to fully understand her meaning, but Shy lacked the energy to fully explain. There had always been a knot of ice in the very pit of her stomach when a man would force his touch upon her. The only other time this chill gave way to a glowing warmth was when Brennan had been with her. Now his memory only brought on another cold shudder.

"Forgive me," Guy said, "I tried not to let you know. I did not want you to fear me."

"But I do," Shy replied, "I'm terrified of you." Guy looked devastated at her words, but Shy went on, "Don't give me cause to believe my own mad fears."

"I won't." And Shy believed such a statement. He leaned in to kiss her again, but Shy turned her head away, "I'll leave you now. We should both try to get some rest tonight." Her stammering voice revealed she had had enough for one night. Guy did not press her further. He released her from his arms and opened the door for her.

He kissed her forehead, "Good-night, Shy."

Shy smiled, feeling herself come undone at the light in Guy's eyes. Shy doubted there was any man more grateful to be given so precious a human emotion. She realized as she walked away and back to the courtyard, that she was holding his heart in her hands. She had near complete power over this man. She, a slave girl in command of a knight! She could ask him anything, and she doubted he'd refuse her if it meant she'd be with him and care for him. Shy wondered if someone had realized such a thing before, and if they had abused such an offering. Judging from the hesitant loyalty she had seen Guy display to her she doubted she was wrong in this. Suddenly the concept of how much power she could hold over this man disgusted her. She may fear the nature of man, but he had greater cause to fear her, for she could break him with a word.

* * *

**A/N: More to come soon! A little angst here, a little fluff there...you know how it goes. :) Feel free to leave a review. Thanks for your continued support, as always! **


	18. A Step Too Far

XVIII

A Step Too Far

Guy had not been told where he was riding out to, only that he was to accompany his lord Waleran. He was far from concerned with the sudden need for secrecy, he had been used to being the last to know a great number of things on many an occasion while he was Sheriff Vaysey's lieutenant. His only real disappointment stemmed from his uncertainty as to when he would arrive back at the Castle. He fitted the saddle onto his horse, trying his best to conceal a grin as he thought back to the events which transpired earlier that morning.

The suddenness of what had occurred the previous night had left him with a whirlwind of doubt. From the moment he had woken he had sought out Shy to assure himself that her confession of her true feelings for him had not been a dream. He was given absolute proof that what Shy had told him before still held truth. Yet still it all felt impossibly surreal. Shy had displayed a passion in her changed demeanor he had not thought possible. Surely a woman who had suffered as she had would be incapable of conjuring up such intimate feelings? But, Guy reminded himself, this would not be the first time Shy had proven him wrong.

He mounted the horse and rode out to meet Waleran— already waiting by the gate. "Would it be too much to ask to know where you intend on taking me, my lord?" Guy asked.

"You'll discover it soon enough, Sir Guy," Waleran replied with a good humored laugh. He pulled his horse round to lead him out of the Castle.

"Forgive me, my lord, but is it entirely wise to leave the Castle without an escort?" Guy could not help the question.

Waleran had a ready answer, "An escort would merely attract attention, and we will not be out long enough to wish to attract such attention to ourselves."

Good, so he was not to be out the entire day, or be forced to stay a night away from the Castle and from Shy. A day ago he might have been able to have done so without much thought, but now that Shy would be waiting for him, with the anticipation of something far more than merely a friend's mild impatience, Guy found the idea of leaving her behind for even a day an almost unbearable prospect. He had only just discovered the depth of her feeling, it would be impossible to leave her in mid-exploration. But he must remember she was fragile still, and even if she did admit that she cared for him, this did not cure her of all her ills and disturbances of mind and soul. But he was not so stable himself, Guy thought as he rode out through the city alongside Waleran. Perhaps it would be better if he made himself as tentative as Shy, for he had no wish to fall any further in his affection towards her. He needed to take care not to believe himself in love with her. It would be much easier to fall faster now that she shared his feelings. He must restrain himself. It was already enough that he brought her into his curse by merely caring for her as he did, but he could not help it! He had not made her admit her feelings, she had done so and she had been sincere in that.

What a wonder that was! To have a woman caring for him so openly and honestly. And what a woman, indeed. Guy was blind to the surrounding city streets. As he rode he found his mind concocting far pleasanter sights of Shy. He could fancy her nearly beautiful now, and her intelligence and wit was something to be reckoned with. No, no, he must not reflect too much upon her virtues. Admiration was a step closer to that dreaded of emotions. He knew altogether too well the pain love brought with it. Shy cared for him, but that was all. He could not count on her ever falling in love with him, and even if she did, she would never wish to be with him as a woman should be with a man. It was all pointless if he loved her. Better to continue on as he was rather than run the risk of disappointment.

He turned himself away from thoughts of Shy and brought his focus back to the present moment. The streets of Warwick were far more crowded then those of Nottingham. On market days there had been barely enough people to rightly call it a city. Guy could see now why that was. He and the Sheriff had bled those peasants dry. Here, there was the clamor of healthy activity and everywhere he saw people shouting out from their stalls, neighbors greeting one another, the sound of hammer on anvil from a blacksmiths shop, and the myriad of animal calls. As they rode past, the people stopped and bowed to their lord, but not out of obedient fear, but out of respect.

"The people admire you greatly," Guy commented to Lord Waleran.

"Should they not?" Waleran looked over at him as if Guy had spoken something in a foreign tongue.

Guy could only shake his head to dismiss his observation. Waleran replied, "Fear is easy to achieve, respect and admiration are earned after great trial." Guy smiled privately to himself, Waleran's words reminded him of something his father might have told him when he was a child. He felt a stab of pain at the memory. If his father could have lived to have seen the man he had become, he would have turned away from him in shame.

The two rode until they were well clear of the city. Guy had forgotten it had nearly been a full two weeks since he had been out past the city proper. The open fields before him were a quiet and chilling sight. The silence was almost deafening. It did not last long though, they passed a village and a small tavern. Guy estimated they must have been riding for a few hours, as the sun that had been slowly rising since they had set out, was now fixed in the middle of the sky.

They came upon an estate of some size. A manor-house facing a small stream surrounded by serf's homes. He could see some of the farmers in the fields and a few of the servants of the manor by the water troughs washing linens. The scene reminded him very much of Locksley, but Locksley was a far larger village. "Have we come to see the lord of this manor?" Guy asked.

Much to his surprise, Waleran laughed, "Not quite. This estate is part of Sir Gavin's lands. This is Careswich."

"And does Sir Gavin reside in the manor, my lord?"

"We are full of intriguing questions today, Sir Guy, are we not?"

"Forgive me, my lord."

Waleran laughed again, "Sir Guy what do you think of these lands?"

"I...I think them adequate indeed for a village of this size." Where was this conversation getting at?

Waleran nodded, "Sir Gavin will be pleased you think so. He spoke to me of bequeathing Careswich to you."

Guy could have slipped from his saddle. He blinked and fixed Lord Waleran with a disbelieving eye. "And..and that is why we are here, my lord?"

Waleran nodded, "That is why."

"I am afraid I do not understand."

"Sir Guy, you have proven yourself a capable man and have done me a great service in helping to rid me of the Imposter. Sir Gavin believes, as do I, that such a service can not go unrewarded."

"But to entrust me with an estate..."

"Whatever your dealings were in the past, and mark me, Sir Guy, I know of them, it was in the past, and I am willing to give you the means to begin again."

Guy looked out at Careswich with a new eye. Small though the land may appear to be, it was at least land! With this he could build up all that he had lost, and with the continued support of Lord Waleran he could surely rise to a position of power. "I thank you my lord," he said, "but I can not accept, not yet, I must have time to...think this through."

"What an interesting answer," Waleran mused, "I would have thought you would have accepted outright."

"As you said, my lord, whatever I was in the past, it is not what I am in the present."

"So I see." Waleran seemed to take Guy's hesitation as a sign of good judgement. "Then, please, consider mine and Sir Gavin's offer."

"I will, my lord," Guy said. "You will have my answer before the week is out."

* * *

When the Castle Gates opened to admit Lord Waleran and Sir Guy, it was well into evening and the sky had darkened considerably under the weight of heavy clouds. Lady Adela and Shy could see the courtyard from their alcove on the second tier. Shy pulled up the hood of the cloak Adela had lent her, and began to make her way down to greet her friend. Adela stopped her with well-timed hold upon her arm. "You can not simply run down there and fling yourself at him."

Shy blushed crimson and bit her lip to conceal the better half of her embarrassment, "I had no intention of 'flinging' myself anywhere."

"But you were going to go see Sir Guy, am I correct?" Adela smiled with a critical eye.

"Should I not?" Shy asked with a short, exhaled laugh.

"You must wait for him to find you."

"Oh? And how is he supposed to know where I am?" Shy sat back down on the bench beside the lady, with an impatient sigh. She toyed with the ends of the cloak with fidgety hands.

"Have patience," Adela said.

"I have none."

"You allow for Sir Guy to teach you how to fight and defend yourself; will you not allow me to teach you decorum and propriety?" Adela asked.

Shy smiled in that condescending, wolfish way that had the ability to make Adela feel very much like a child seeing a side of the world she had never looked at before. "And what need have I of propriety, my lady?"

"A woman's reputation and standing in the world is a fragile thing-"

"Oh, I don't think I ever had one of those, my lady."

"You are living under the impression that a lady in my position is useless and subordinate. Well, I am not. I may not understand half of what you have lived through, Shy, but I could say that same for you about me. People brand you as a wild fiend because you allow your emotions to get the better of you. If you could learn how to control them—how to portray yourself as a woman men expect to see, you would be surprised how much you can observe and learn for yourself."

"I do understand you, my lady," Shy said, trying to state her case without offending her friend, "but I see no reason to fashion myself to the rules of men."

"Oh, Shy! The rules of society were not altered on a whim! If you wish to live a normal life there are rules you will have to learn."

Shy merely shook her head and rose from the bench, pulling her hood up around her head once more, "I think not, my lady, I will live how I choose. If it means being slandered by most men and women then I care not. I am a free person and I will do as I please."

She turned to leave Adela, but as she looked away from her to stare at the hall ahead of her, she found she had nearly run straight into the man she had been so anxious to greet. "I'm not disturbing you am I, my lady?" Guy remarked to a surprised Adela.

"Not at all," Adela replied.

"I was just going to find you," Shy said, recovering from her own momentary embarrassment.

Guy smirked, "A coincidence, I was looking for you." He offered her his arm, and Shy looped hers about his with a welcoming smile. "My lady," Guy dipped his head in a respectful farewell towards Lady Adela. Shy merely nodded while she tried to avoid her friend's judgmental stares. The couple departed from the alcove arm in arm. Once out of eyesight, Shy managed to steal a kiss from Guy. "You saved me from another one of Lady Adela's speeches on propriety and virtue."

"I thought Lady Adela was your friend?" Guy asked, his mood lightening considerably now that he and Shy were alone.

"She is," Shy replied.

"Then perhaps you should do her the courtesy of listening to her little speeches from time to time," Guy said. "Friends should be worthy of respect."

"Oh, behold the saintly one preaching to me of respect!" Shy laughed, "When was the last time you listened to what I had to say with any such regard?"

"When was the last time you said anything worth listening to?" Guy retorted.

Shy laughed quietly, letting her head rest upon his shoulder as they walked through the corridors. It was not often that Guy allowed his sense of humor to shine out through his solemn and dark features. If one was not paying close enough attention at times, one would miss the light jokes and sarcastic remarks he sometimes made. He had probably tried to bury this lighter side to him; not having anyone to speak to in so casual a manner, what would have been the point of humor? She kissed him again, suddenly feeling quite possessive of him. "Now see?" Guy said softly as they parted, "That was most assuredly worth listening to."

Shy smiled and turned the conversation to more serious topics. She asked Guy where he had gone with Lord Waleran, but the only answer she received was that it was hardly worth mentioning and he would tell her another time. It was easy to see the almost disappointed look in his eyes as he said this. What did he not want to tell her? She felt the urge to pry further into his secrets, but then thought better of it. The last time she had she had made a terrible mess of things. She decided to spare her curiosity and bid Guy good-night before she took herself off to the gardens. Guy tried unsuccessfully to convince her to stay in her own chambers for fear of possible rain in the night. Undaunted by such petty threats as a little water, Shy told him that she could not be in danger of drowning as she was a more than capable swimmer. Amused, but hardly satisfied, Guy left the woman to her own devices, as he knew she was happiest when allowed to do as she pleased. A final kiss good-night served as satisfactory farewell, at least for Guy. Shy could not help but admit, as she went out to the darkened courtyard, that a part of her still burned even as Guy left her.

Every nerve seemed to be on edge. She tried to quell this unidentifiable urge with the knowledge that she would see him again in the morning, but this was not merely a simple issue over how much time she spent with Guy. Shy made her way over to the old tree and nestled down against the trunk and the protruding root. Sleep did not come at once. She tossed and turned for a time, a frustration building up inside of her to a frenzy she could not comprehend. She forced herself to lie still and breathe in deep. Eventually, sleep found her, but even that was hazy and muddled and she was constantly awoken by dreams which left her confused and aggravated.

* * *

Guy came awake at the rolling sound of thunder. He sat up in bed as the dark room was illuminated for an instant by a flash of lightening. The window was dripping with rain. It seemed he had been right about the storm after all. The thunder was a building drum beat, never crashing, only echoing past continuously. Guy was about to roll over and attempt to get back to sleep when a thought struck him: Shy would be outside.

At once sleep was momentarily forgotten as he fumbled for his tunic and boots. Sufficiently dressed, Guy opened the doors to the corridor. The torches were still burning and the occasional flashes of lightening assisted him in his way down the staircase and out to the hall leading towards the courtyard. It was not raining too heavily; the drums of thunder threatened more to come, but Guy had a feeling it would prove to be just that, a simple threat.

Shy was found in the suspected area, her cloak pulled up and around her like a blanket. She seemed oblivious to the rain dripping down on her through the leaves of the tree. How anyone could seem so blissfully unaware of such a discomfort, Guy could never understand, especially since Shy hated thunderstorms. Damned woman would catch her death out here, Guy thought as he lifted the sleeping Shy up into his arms.

The woman gave a thin groan as she was moved and blinked open bleary eyes. "What's happening?"

"Nothing," Guy said. "Just a rainstorm, I'm taking you inside. Go back to sleep."

Shy appeared too tired to fully protest. She clung to Guy as he carried her out of the garden. The lightening sparked overhead and Shy flinched quietly, turning her face away from the bright light. "Did the storm wake you?" she asked with a yawn.

"Yes."

"And you came to get me out of the rain?"

"Go back to sleep, Shy."

Guy found Shy's unused chambers with little trouble. He was grateful that the door was unlocked. He placed Shy upon the bed and she looked up at him, gray eyes clouded with the fog of sleep. She smiled at him as he helped her undo the strings of the rain-soaked cloak. "You did not have to come for me..." Guy pulled off her cloak and placed it on the darkened floor at the foot of the bed, ignoring Shy's statement entirely.

Shy started to lie down when she reached for Guy as he came back to her side. With her arms about him, she kissed him. Her lips were cold, as was the rest of her, Guy discovered as he returned her embrace. He seemed to loom over her like a great shadow as he stood over her bed and she sitting upon the edge of it. Lightening burst upon the room and Guy could see Shy's raven hair wet and slick against her head, the sleeves of her dress clung to her slender arms. He followed a droplet of water with his eyes as it slid down her neck to her chest. His black tunic was becoming damp with rain-water as Shy held him around the waist, her head against his chest.

Guy leaned down to kiss the top of Shy's head. Shy shifted and looked back up at him, barely able to see him in the darkness without the aid of the lightening. Their lips met again, her cold flesh warming with Guy's aid. Shy moved as one without a trace of fear, and Guy found himself on the bed with her. Shy rolled over so that she might be brought back against him. Guy brushed aside locks of her wet hair and kissed the side of her neck. Shy tilted her head back giving him greater access. Guy's breath hitched in his throat as he felt Shy's hand reach under his black tunic to touch the bare skin of his stomach and chest. For a fraction of a second, her fingers brushed up against the line of his trousers.

Guy reached for the laces at the back of her dress, loosening them considerably. He managed to slide the top of her dress off of her shoulders, soon leaving her clad in her thin shift. His hand trailed down her arm, her skin still chilled from the dampness of the dress. Shy gave a light moan when Guy licked away the droplets of water remaining at the apex of her chest. He moved the short sleeves of the shift off of her shoulders, pushing the collar line down past her breasts.

Shy stiffened in Guy's arms when she felt his fingers trail over her exposed flesh. The lustful haze fell from Shy's clouded mind and thought and sense was regained in one lightening flash of a moment. With one terrified burst of energy, Shy pushed Guy off of her. She sat up, trying to understand what had happened. She sat quite still, staring straight ahead, eyes wide. Guy regained his senses faster and immediately grasped the severity of the situation. "Shy..." his voice was still heavy with unfulfilled desire.

The woman merely held up her hand, which appeared as a blotchy shadow in the dark. Beginning to shake now, she pulled up the sleeves of her shift, covering herself. Guy would not be silenced for long, "Shy, forgive me, there was no time for thought...I..." he reached for her out of a fervent desire to let her know he had not meant her harm.

Shy shrunk from him, and she was glad of the dark, for he could not see the tears welling in her eyes. "Do not...touch me."

"I had not meant to. I swear, Shy, I was not trying to hurt you. You know I would not."

Shy merely shook her head. "Please leave."

"No," Guy said. He rose from the bed to give her space, but he did not do as she requested. "Shy, I will not leave until you believe me."

"You are a man," Shy said, "I know it is in your nature. I will try not to blame you."

"Shy!" Guy nearly shouted, "I wanted only to be with you." But he had not been thinking. She had clung to him so fiercely, with such a passion, he had believed she might have wanted him. He had been such a fool. He should have stopped her and calmed her, not fed in to his own lust.

"I know what you wanted."

"Yes, and you wanted me to," Guy said with frantic energy, unaware that this explanation was far more damaging than he could have thought.

"How _dare_ you!" Shy spat, uncurling from about herself to rear up like a tigress. "How dare you blame me! Yes, I wanted you, I did not think you would abuse that!"

"No, Shy, you do not understand..."

"Get out!" Her patience seemed at an end. She pointed a shaking finger to the door. "Do not think to explain your lies to me. I thought you were different. I thought you would prove me wrong. I see now how foolish that was."

He had lost her. Shy's words were a venom of unconcealed hatred. He did not have to see her face to recognize the signs of betrayal. She needed to listen to him. She had to see he could never hurt her in that way. "Shy, please," he was disgusted by the pathetic whimper in his own voice. Shy looked down, visibly upset at his tone.

Guy tried to reach for her in his desperation. Shy screamed and scrambled off of the bed and away from him. "Don't hurt me." She was gone back into her dark memories. Guy knew there would be no reaching her now.

He tried to hush her and urge her back upon the bed. "I'll be good. I'll stay still. I'll be silent. Don't send me to the guard house, please...please, look," she got back up and went over to the bed and sat very still and quiet upon it.

Guy's stomach twisted at the implication of her words. He wanted to hold her, hoping against hope she would regain her senses, but she was so far gone now. "I won't send you anywhere," he hushed, "I'm going to leave you," he heard her cry like a pitiful child at this, the choking and unbearable sound stabbed his heart. He shut the door behind him, still able to hear her tears. He pressed his head against the unforgiving wood of the door. One undeniable fact rattled through his head in time to the drums of the thunder: he had lost her.

* * *

**A/N: Don't let anyone tell you that a little angst isn't good for you. XD So, how's Guy going to talk his way out of this one? And will Shy even be willing to listen? **

**Yes, I'm a terrible person, I know. Updates will be soon, and if you also read my other fic 'Sands of Morpheus' expect a new chapter very shortly. :) Please leave a review if you feel so inclined. Hope you're enjoying the story!  
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	19. An Imposter Caught

XIX

An Imposter Caught

Lady Adela was greeted by a most distressing sight when she opened her chamber door. The knocking had been quiet, yet quite insistent in rhythm. She had first thought it was one of the captains in the guard come looking for Sir Gavin. What she saw instead was a very disheveled and frantic Guy. He had not slept last night and this was evident in the redness in, and about, his eyes. He stood rigid, his eyes a blank, but the strain was there. Adela noticed his hands were shaking. Guy must have seen where her gaze had gone, for he tried to conceal the evidence of such tremors.

"Sir Guy?" Adela asked, leaning against the door. "Is something the matter? Gavin is with my lord Waleran, but if there is anything that I might-"

"She won't open the door." Guy's voice nearly shook, but he managed to regain a hold over his senses in time. He licked his lips, and lowered his head, avoiding eye contact.

"Who won't open the door?"

"Shy," Guy said with an impatient snap. "She's locked herself in."

Adela retreated back into her chambers, only to reappear a second later, a shawl draped across her shoulders. She exited the room and finished tying the shawl about her as she walked. Guy was quick to fall into step alongside her. "What happened? Do you know?"

"Shy was outside last night during the storm. I brought her inside to her chambers and she...she misunderstood my actions." Guy could not fully explain what had occurred between him and Shy. Adela fixed him with a stare that doubted his abbreviated statement; she could infer the unspoken events for herself. Disappointment was clear in her eyes, and she sped up her steps.

If anyone could reach Shy in her current state it was bound to be Lady Adela. This was what Guy was counting on. For Shy had made it abundantly clear that she had no desire to hear his excuses or his apologies. Guy had already resigned himself to the fact that Shy would no longer want any more to do with him after this, but he could not let her drift alone in her own insanity. Lord knew what she was thinking in that room. He had only heard silence in reply to all his words. Was she even capable of hearing him? Last night she had been raving like a madwoman again, and Guy was not certain there would be a way to bring her round.

Adela did not think such bleak thoughts as Guy; her stride was full of purpose. Whatever Guy had blundered into, she was certain it could be fixed. Shy may be mad, but she was not lost to her own mind. Upon arriving at the locked door leading into the bedchamber Shy had holed herself up in, Adela knocked upon the door. "Shy? Will you please open the door?" Her voice was a soft entreaty, one that could not be taken as hostile or judgmental.

The door remained locked against the lady and only silence greeted her. Guy's distress grew as Adela tried again. Unable to contain himself, Guy tried the door again. His fist banging against the wood. "Shy?"

Something collided against the other side of the door and shattered. Adela pushed Guy out of the way, "How will that solve anything?" she chided. She turned her attention back to the door. "Shy, will you open the door for me? I wish to speak with you."

"You will let him in," came the harsh bark from within.

"You have my word that I will not. Please, Shy..."

The handle of the door turned and Shy appeared in the thin crack in the doorway. She examined Adela, checking her face for signs of insincerity. Shy let the door open a little more, enough to admit only one person. Adela slipped inside and Shy looked out at Guy as she shut the door. Her eyes were burning with hatred for him. Guy was not intimidated by such a stare. He silently begged her to see his innocence in this matter, but Shy only seemed more put off by his looks of concern. She slammed the door shut and turned the key in the lock.

"You have had us worried, Shy," Adela said, removing her shawl and taking the liberty of seating herself. She glanced at the remains of a small pitcher, which lay in jagged disarray by the door. She sniffed and looked away up at Shy.

The terrified woman stood in the center of the room, her head lowered and her arms across her chest. Her hair was tangled from the previous night and the laces on her dress were poorly tied. "I am sorry," Shy said as she cleared her throat. She looked up, head held high and spine straightened. "Yes, I'm sorry," she shook her head, taking up a chair and dragging it over to Adela, "I must appear a fright." As she sat down she smoothed out the wrinkles on her dress and pinched color back into her cheeks.

"Shy-"

"Do you think Lord Waleran will give me leave to go?" Shy interrupted Adela with a start, "Do you think you might speak to him. The week is not yet up, I know, but I believe he will let me be on my way at last, especially if you ask him in my place."

"I will do no such thing," Adela said. "I will not let you run away."

"I am not running."

"No? Then what would you call all this then?"

"Defense," Shy croaked out, "Or would you rather I stay and let that man have his way with me?"

"I'll not permit that vulgarity from you, Shy," Adela ordered, "Think of who you are speaking of!"

Shy's gaze flickered to the floor, but she did not look well chided, merely upset that her tirade had been halted as soon as it had only just begun. Adela shifted about in her chair and tried to reengage Shy. "Do you mean to tell me, Shy, that Sir Guy is nothing more than the lowest criminal? That he is an abuser of women? A rapist?" She saw the effect her exaggerate descriptions had on Shy. The hatred in her eyes as Guy's name was mentioned was hard, but she flinched as Adela's words struck.

"I say he would have been if I had not stopped him."

"You expect me to believe that the man who is worried half to death over you at this very moment is the same man who you claim tried to do you harm?"

Shy fidgeted in her seat, until she was no longer able to sit still. She stood up and paced back and forth. "I told you...I told you he would not be able to help it. I gave him the opportunity to do as he would."

"And by this hard judgment you would claim all men were as violent and unthinking as animals," Adela sighed, "Do you think Gavin treats me so?"

"My lady, I would...I would not dare to..."

"My husband, Shy," Adela began, taking advantage of her momentary stutter, "is the kindest and most honorable man I have ever known. We had only met each other once before our wedding day. It was arranged by my good father and mother. Being complete strangers to one another on our own wedding you might think it common for a man to care little for his wife's concerns. Gavin left me undisturbed on our wedding night." Adela colored slightly, these were not topics one was ever made to discuss. "And again the following night; he wanted me to be comfortable in my new home. He wanted me used to his presence, and such patience in a husband is a rare thing, Shy. It was not hard to love and respect him after that. Does Gavin fit such a description of men as yours? And what of Brennan? From your description he does not sound worthy of your contempt."

"Brennan!" Shy spat, her confusion over Adela's words fading at the mention of her old friend, "He deceived me! He told me he loved me only to try and force himself upon me. He begged, my lady! He begged and said the same words as Guy did. It is all the same. He wished to be with me, to love me, that it was not out of a need to hurt me, but to-"

"Make love to you?" Adela finished.

Shy turned pale and backed away from her for an instant. "You can't know those words."

"You are smarter than that, Shy," Adela rose to her feet, "You know who is a friend and who is an enemy. Are those the words of the depraved?"

"A man would say anything in order to..."

"Shy!"

"Don't you say that it is all my fault!"

"It is the cruelest irony, Shy, that the same action that expresses love and tenderness is also a weapon of destruction and pain," Adela said, placing a hand upon the distraught woman's shoulder. "I can not claim to understand what you have been through, Shy, but could it not be possible that you have been wrong this once?"

Shy shook her head, but she lacked the conviction necessary to make Adela believe her denial. "Such an admission would mean that Brennan was innocent."

"Is that so unbearable?"

"Of course it is!" Shy said, a wail in her voice, "I loved him! He offered me a chance to escape. We were to leave together. I was to go on ahead and he was to follow. The night before I was to leave he—if I had not...if I had not screamed I would not have brought the guards down on us. I can't believe that I abandoned him, that _I_ betrayed him."

"You've known for a while what Brennan truly meant haven't you?" Adela asked.

Shy smiled sadly, "I thought if I ever managed to escape again I'd get back to Rotherham and find him. Although, I do not know if he will ever forgive me for the judgment I placed upon him."

"And what of Guy?"

"Guy was...unexpected."

Adela could see how Shy must have tormented herself with her growing emotions towards Guy. It was clear that from what Shy had said that she did still love Brennan, perhaps as much as she ever did. It would be easier then, to find any excuse to push Guy away, if only to spare herself the pain of choosing between the two in her heart.

"At least show him you do not despise him. He deserves that much." Adela waited for Shy to tell her that she was all right before she made a move to open the door. "Sir Guy?" She asked, "I believe you may—oh, Sir Guy?" The corridor beyond the doorway was completely empty. "He's gone."

"Gone?" Shy made her way over to look out the door as well. Her face fell for an instant at Guy's absence. What if he had thought it was all pointless with her? What if he would no longer have any desire to hear her excuses? Poor man, he did not deserve to be saddled to such a fickle and half-crazed wench such as she was. "Where could he have gone?"

* * *

"I am not much for waiting," Gavin remarked as he steadied his horse.

Guy said nothing as he stared out ahead at the expanse of trees before him. Sir Gavin had come for him not long after Adela had been granted access to Shy's chambers. With the soldiers ready to march, he had had no choice but to fall into rank alongside Gavin as they, along with Lord Waleran, made their way to the Imposter's camp.

"I said, I am not much for waiting," Gavin tried again.

Guy shook his head, "What?"

"Something amiss?" Gavin said in a low tone. "You've been quiet, and more so than your usual surly self."

They were with the third group of soldiers. Two separate groups were waiting elsewhere around the camp. One was across the river and a second was even now winding their way to a position directly behind the camp grounds. Guy and Gavin waited with the last group, the one meant to catch the men along the outskirts of the camp.

"I am merely impatient," Guy growled. He had not the stamina to deal with Gavin's taunting. He had all the confidence of today's attack solving the problem of the Imposter for good that his mood bordered on boredom. He waited for the signal from the other two groups. Guy had no doubt that the Imposter and his men had already seen them approach, at least Waleran had chosen to make a show of the first group of soldiers lining up on the opposite bank of the river. The others were hidden, but if this Imposter had any brains at all he would be expecting a second attack from the rear of his ranks.

There came a cry from the direction of the river and Guy knew that the attack was on. They still had time to wait yet. Gavin looked ready to pounce like a cat at the slightest provocation, but Guy merely stared lazily through the trees. He could see the skirmish underway, or perhaps he was merely imagining it. Horses whinnied behind him, anxious at the sounds of battle. Gavin kept the men in line. Every ear was strained for the signal.

Impossibly long minutes drifted by in the eerie silence among the men. The cries of comrades further off more like a dream than a reality. A shout sprang up, and both Gavin and Guy recognized Waleran's voice: "Archers ready! Archers ready!"

Swords were drawn in an instant and Gavin shouted for the men to follow him. Guy rode hard at Gavin's side. He could hear the sounds of waspish arrows around him; they were closer to the battleground then he had thought. Waleran's men had surrounded the camp, but all about them were more of the Imposter's army. The ragtag army backed up, surprised at the third strike force which was pounding down the hillside to overtake them.

Guy could easily feel himself back in Nottingham once again chasing Robin Hood and his outlaws. The sword spun in his hand and he casually cut down one of the rebels as he notched an arrow to his bow. He did not think about the one death when more was to follow at his hands. The movements were mechanical. At one time he had taken a sick pleasure in such battles. The thrill of living through his first battle was unlike anything he had ever felt before. His every nerve had burned and sparked, he had howled like an animal and forgot all technique as he hacked his way through the enemy in an effort to please his own lord and master. After he had first shed blood on such a scale he had counted every last one of his own wounds: ten. He had wanted them all to scar and a good number of them had.

Now the sword seemed to move out of its own accord. Guy plunged the blade into a man's chest and drew it forth, dripping blood. The men had no horses and many were trampled in the stampede. It was not long before the Imposter's army was surrounded. They could continue fighting, but it would be pointless. Gavin took pleasure in riding about the circle of rebels, jabbing at a few with his blade. The rebels dropped their weapons. Whoever the Imposter was, it was impossible to tell. No man seemed more like a leader, and no one stepped forward to claim such a responsibility. Guy would not be surprised if, after sensing defeat, the Imposter had fled the scene, or was keeping his head down and silent. He knew the man to be clever, he did not think he would be proven wrong now, even at the end of his campaign.

The men on the edge of the trap still had their swords drawn. One, a young lad perhaps not older than fifteen years, swung half heartedly at the legs of Guy's horse. Guy raised his blade and struck the lad a blow which sliced him from neck to shoulder. The young man fell choking on his own blood, both hands over the wound. A comrade who had been standing beside him knelt and kept the young lad still until death stole over his features. Guy sheathed his blade, his expression a blank. He started when he heard Gavin's hard voice. "You did not need to kill him."

"He was trying to lame my horse," Guy explained without much passion. "Besides, you intend to execute all of these traitors anyway."

"There will be a trial," Gavin stated, "it is the Imposter I want. His men are misled peasants and will be given the benefit of a trial before their lord and master. Do you think that boy truly knew what he was up against?"

Guy watched in utter bewilderment as Gavin apologized to the dead boy's companion. The man who was still kneeling beside the boy spat at the sincere knight, but as Gavin rode away Guy could see the mixed confusion on the peasant man's features. Guy swallowed the gnawing urge to feel any remorse or guilt for what he had done. He had reacted as any man of experience would. The lad had been a fool to think to challenge him as he had done, and he had paid the price for it. Upstarts needed to be put down lest they challenge the natural order of the world. These were not his words, Guy knew that, they were Vaysey's, but he had had them drilled into his head for so long he could not remember anymore if he believe them or not. Seeing the dead boy's blood still wet upon the forest floor sent another tremor of guilt through him. He decided it was best to ride away from the scene.

The captured prisoners walked between the lines of the soldiers as they marched back to the Castle. Guy was left to contemplate Gavin's compassion in silence as neither the knight in question nor Lord Waleran spoke a word to one another as they rode. This was a solemn triumph. Among the prisoners was the Imposter, and if not, they would soon discover his location. He would be a man on the run, without shelter or companionship. It was only a matter of time.

The gates were lowered and the dull impact jostled Guy from his contemplation. He looked up and blinked several times, for he thought he had seen Shy's face peering out of the Gatehouse window. As the assembly moved forward he was certain there was, indeed, someone watching their return from the window, and Guy was assured that it was Shy as he neared the walls of the Castle. Shy looked down at the passing figures, Guy stared up at her, he doubted she could make out his form from her perch, nor would she hold his gaze for long, but at least she was out of her room at last!

Shy held out her hand by way of greeting, her face was grave and pale in the light, but Guy could have shouted for joy. He returned her greeting and he watched as Shy disappeared from the window as soon as he passed through the gates.

Guy dismounted his horse, which was taken by one of the groomsmen as they bustled about in an attempt to see to all of the guards' horses. In the commotion of the dismount and the rounding up and shackling of the prisoners, Guy slipped away back towards the gates. He tore up the spiral staircase towards the door which led to the gatehouse room. The urge to pull open the door and tear into the room was strong. He lingered a while just beyond the door in order to recompose himself. Sufficiently under control, Guy opened the door slowly. Shy was waiting for him in one of the chairs, her knees pressed against her chest, the skirt of her dress barely covering her ankles. She uncurled as Guy entered. There was silence as they sized up one another. "Please..." Shy said in a voice as soft as a whisper, "you may shut the door."

Guy did so, but said nothing, not trusting himself to speak or to move while in her presence. "I watched for you by the window," Shy explained, "once I heard that you and the other soldiers had marched out." She gestured towards the table which had a few cloths, needle and thread, poultices, water, and all manner of medical supplies. "I thought you might be in need of this." There was a small blush on her cheeks, for she had realized upon seeing him that he was in good health and had escaped injury. "Will you come sit beside me, please?"

Guy moved as a hunter would shift his stance so as to not frightened the deer. He accept the chair beside Shy and took a small amount of comfort in the fact that she did appear frightened at his closeness. Shy grasped a pitcher in her hand and poured the water out into the bowl. She took the white cloth and let it soak in the cool water before squeezing the excess. The blood on Guy's hands was dabbed away, along with the sweat and grime marking his face. Guy watched her as she set herself to the task. Her lips had formed a thin line, and she would not meet his eyes. There was a spell of silence about them, and Guy did not want to be the first to break it. Yet he could not resist taking her hand in his and stilling her attempts to tend to him. Shy was disturbed at the lack of occupation and she fidgeted in the chair, allowing her anxiety to show. He gave her hand a squeeze and Shy was stilled.

"Last night was not your fault," she said. "It was easier to believe that it was then to try and understand," Shy dipped her head, but Guy could not be certain if it was out of shame or if there was a deeper explanation behind those storm-cloud eyes. "I must ask you to forgive me. I...I accused you of an unspeakable crime. I knew full well you would never do such a thing to me—would never hurt me."

Guy could find nothing to say to such an admission. He spoke what was foremost on his mind, "There was a boy in the forest, at the battle. I doubt if he was older than sixteen. I killed him. He had tried to bring my horse down, but he was no position to do so. I killed him. There was another man near him who sat with him while he died. I don't know if he was a brother or friend to him." Guy passed a hand over his eyes, "We are taught from the age we learn to use a sword and shoot a bow not to think about those we kill. Men go mad at such thoughts."

Shy brought her chair closer to Guy's and placed her arms about him. "I'm sorry," she whispered to him, rubbing up and down his back, "I'm so sorry."

Guy lowered his head to the crook between Shy's neck and shoulder and allowed himself to be soothed by her as she rocked back and forth, her arms wrapped tight about him. He did not know why he had spoken so candidly with her. To admit he had been troubled by the fight was to also admit weakness. She should have disapproved of such behavior, as any woman of character would when faced with a man incapable of keeping guard over himself. Guy found himself with his own arms around her.

Shy kissed Guy's cheek and sat back in her chair, her arms falling away from him, but her hand sought his own. "Forgive me-"

"I already have."

Shy shook her head. "No, it is not so simple. You remember my mentioning of the name Sir Brennan? Well, I lied to you of him. He did no worse than you, and at the time it seemed like a betrayal, but...I know it was not. That is the very terrible fact, Guy."

"Do you still love him?" Guy's question was without a note of hurt.

"That is a question designed to cause you pain," Shy said, "If I were to answer it it would be to deny my feelings for you. It is like me asking if you still love your Marian."

Stunned only briefly by the answer, Guy was slow to nod his head in understanding. Shy was grateful for such an answer and she could see from his eyes that he knew more of her true feelings then she gave him credit for.

"Are you saying," Guy said in a low tone as he raised Shy's hand to his lips, "that by asking such a question of me you would be...jealous?"

It was a quiet taunt, as all of Guy's were, but he seemed to enjoy breaking the dark atmosphere and the reluctant smile which appeared on Shy's face. She had not lost him after all with her enigmatic confession. "I will not answer that," Shy replied as Guy tugged her back to him with a quiet laugh that might have been a sob, she couldn't be sure, but she noted that there was no trace of sorrow in Guy's eyes as he looked at her—contented was the word she would describe him as. And he was, indeed, content to be with a woman who knew his past yet did not shrink from him; who understood the true meaning of loss and betrayal, and knew how to wring a lightness from his soul he thought long gone out.

They remained in the Gatehouse until it grew dark, and once night had fallen they abandoned the tower together.

* * *

**A/N: Sorry for the slight delay. I was away on vacation for a week, but I'm back now and with one month left of summer I'm going to do my best to write as much as possible before the semester starts up again! :) **

**Hope you enjoyed this chapter, and please feel free to leave a review!  
**


	20. She Moved Through the Fair

XX

She Moved Through The Fair

Shy was sitting up, awake, in the middle of the night. The blanket around her was sliding off of the bed and onto the floor; she casually tugged at the corner of it and brought it back upon the bed, tucking it over her legs. She was crying silently as she did so. The tears had started some time ago, and she found she could not stop herself. The blanket was smoothed under her fidgeting hands as Shy continued to bring the fallen fabric onto the bed. She turned to look at the man sleeping beside her; Guy lay unclothed with the blanket barely covering his still form. Shy, very carefully, tucked the blanket about him. A gasp of a sob escaped her and she covered her mouth with her hand in fear of waking Guy. She had nothing to fear, the man merely turned over in his sleep and draped an arm about Shy.

A bed had never seemed so warm before, Shy contemplated as she listened to Guy's soft breathing. She felt more than a little silly crying when she had no reason to. Shy let her head rest against Guy's. The walls of the dark bedchamber did not cause her panic, as her gaze flickered to the opposite wall. She had not even meant to be in the chamber, or upon the bed. When she had left Guy to go back towards the garden she had made the fatal mistake of turning back around with the innocent intent to catch a final look at Guy before he went into the Castle for the night. He had not moved, and had been watching her instead, perhaps with the same intent in mind. Shy hadn't been able to leave after that. It was as it had been every night since she had first told Guy she cared for him: she did not wish to leave him.

She knew what she had done next was thanks to her encouragement, therefore the sin she had just committed must truly be her own. What had she been thinking? Lying in bed with a man like a common tavern wench? If it was discovered her reputation would be slandered, not, as Shy thought on, she had much of a decent reputation to hang on to. Yet she was not crying out of shame, she was certain of that. How could she feel shame after the ecstasy she had experienced? She could not find a way to fit all of the abuse that had been done to her into the same category, and this gnawed at her. There had been no pain at all, and Shy had been so overwhelmed at even that difference that she could have curled up and sobbed right then. She could not have given in completely, she had been terrified of finding herself flashing back and she wanted to hold on to the blissful reality.

Happiness—the word came to her mind quite suddenly, it must be happiness that was causing these tears. Such an emotion had always been equated to her childhood and her earliest and faintest memories. Not even with Brennan had she felt this-safe, yes, but not happy. Was it even happiness? The word was so foreign and the warmth she felt so clouded that it was possible she was mistaken. As she pondered this in a counterpoint of agony and joy, she let her fingers comb through Guy's thick, dark hair.

"Why are you awake?" Guy's tired whisper nearly startled Shy from the bed. She had been so quiet, how could he have woken?

"I was only thinking," Shy replied in the same quiet whisper.

Guy nuzzled against her neck and shoulder, placing a kiss there before shifting his position so that he could cradle her against him in much the same fashion as he had done before first falling asleep. "Don't think. Go to sleep."

Shy laughed with a hitching breath and she tried to blink away the last of her tears, pleased that he had at least not noticed she had been crying. Lord knew what that man would have done if he had heard the tears in her voice! She kissed his chest and contented herself with curling up about him. She could feel the scar upon his chest from where the sword had run him through. How close to death he had been then, and how callous she had behaved over whether or not he lived or died. The man that had been a mere obstacle had proved a blessing in disguise. Her lips moved in a silent prayer, the first one she had allowed herself to utter in a long time. These words of gratitude and happiness were the last she spoke before sleep finally overcame her.

* * *

Every last cell in the dungeons was full. With no room to sit, the prisoners stood in rows, some peering out through the bars of their cell, others with their backs to the dank wall casually awaiting what fate was to befall them. Lord Waleran, Gavin, and Guy observed the scene before them: Waleran with a look of disappointment, Gavin with immense satisfaction, and Guy with an indifferent coldness.

"There will be a trial come tomorrow," Lord Waleran said addressing the center cell, but his voice carried to the others. "I will give you each a chance to state your reasons for throwing in your lot with this Imposter. Although I see no other reason other than the fact that you must have all taken leave of your senses. I look around me now and I see many familiar faces, people that I once knew to be honest and loyal. I do not wish to sentence anyone to a harsher punishment than is necessary; you shall accept what is given to you and then you will be free to return to your lives and to put this behind us all."

Glances between a few prisoners were exchanged. Waleran observed this as a good sign, as many had looks of shame stamped onto their features. One man had kept his head down for the majority of Waleran's proclamation. He stood in front of the others with his hands clutching the rusted metal bars. From this angle, Waleran could see the grin on his face. Waleran stepped forward, tilting his head to get a better look at the man. "What say you to that, sir?"

The prisoner raised his head with a laugh, meeting Waleran's stare with calm eyes. Sir Gavin swore loudly, bringing Guy out of his own thoughts to finally fully assess the scene. The grinning man spat at the nobleman's feet. "I say do what you will, traitor."

"The resemblance, I must say, is uncanny," Waleran said, scuffing dirt over the drying saliva at his feet. From behind him, Gavin drew his sword, no longer caring for the bars that kept his lord safe. "But you are not my brother, Imposter."

"You are the only one to claim that. I have many men ready to disagree," The Imposter seemed glad to have been recognized. His eyes were calm and his manner steady. He carried himself much as a nobleman would have.

"William," Waleran spat, "died in the Holy Land."

"That made things very convenient for you, younger brother," The Imposter retorted. "I know for a fact that Lord William did not die in the Holy Land," he spread his arms wide, "as I am very much alive and well right here in this prison!" A few prisoners could not help the laughter which escaped their lips. Many, whose faces once shown with contrition, were twisting again as their leader exchanged words with Lord Waleran.

"I can attest to that."

Both Lord Waleran and Sir Gavin turned to face Guy. He ignored their looks and came forward so that he could be seen by the Imposter, "I know that Lord William did not die in the Holy Land."

"There!" The Imposter said, extended his hand through the bars towards Guy, "The truth, brother, can not be hidden for long!"

"What are you doing?" Gavin hissed to Guy. Guy only shrugged and brushed the sudden suspicion he felt radiating from Gavin off of him. He focused, instead on the crowing man before him.

"Sir Guy," Waleran said, "Enlighten us."

"There is not much to say on the matter, save for I, too, was in the Holy Land for a time. Upon returning to England I remember meeting a young servant and his master also bound for home.I recall the resemblance between them. I do not remember much of the master, I know he seemed sick, I did not think he would make it home alive, but I remember the servant. We spoke only once on the ship back home. His only words to me were he would be receiving his due reward upon returning to England. This man," Guy pointed to the Imposter, "is the servant I met. His master must have been your brother, my lord."

"Liar!" The Imposter roared, slamming his hands against the bars of the cell.

"Will you contest the word of a nobleman?" Guy said, watching the man rage and spit at him, "Between my testimony and your so-called brother's you would be upon the gallows in an instant."

"That is exactly where he is going," Lord Waleran declared. "Tomorrow morning, we shall witness the Imposter's hanging. Guards, take him and chain him up separate from the others."

As Waleran, Gavin, and Guy left the dungeon to the sound of the Imposter's delirious screams of injustice, Waleran looked over at Guy, "Did you really meet my brother on your way back from the Holy Land?"

"My lord, I saw a coffin carried to the ship. When I asked who it was for I was told it was a Lord William de Beaumont. The story I told the Imposter; however, was false. I never met the man in my life, but I can still attest to his lies."

"But no body was returned," Lord Waleran commented.

"My lord," Gavin said gently, "That man is not your brother."

"I know full well that he is not my brother, thank you, Gavin," Waleran snapped.

"Apologies, my lord," Gavin said, but he whispered to Guy in a tone low enough that only he could hear, "but sometimes I fear he wishes he was, if only it meant he was still alive."

* * *

The white shift was proving itself an unconquerable jungle with its sleeves in disarray and the opening for the head nowhere to be found. After a curse from the woman who had dared to attempt such an adventure so early in the morning, the shift fell into place—no doubt out of fear of incurring the wrath of the irascible woman. Shy shook her mussed hair out of her eyes as she smoothed the shift down the length of her body. She bent down to retrieve her discarded blue dress almost in the same instant.

"Should I be insulted at how fast you are dressing?" Guy asked from his position on the bed. He was lying on his side, watching Shy as she moved about the room. His eyes betrayed his intense fascination.

"Guy," his name was a mere exasperated breath as Shy began the task of pulling her dress on. "I am in your chambers, and it is morning. Do you desire I should be caught sneaking out of your bedchambers like a whore?"

"You are not a whore," Guy said defensively, "and you would not be seen sneaking away from anywhere if you stayed inside."

"True, and yet—the Devil take these laces—we can not hide in a room all day. Oh damn!" Shy stomped her foot as she tried her best to tie up the laces in the back of her dress by herself. "My soul for a damned mirror, oh to hell with them!"

Guy to restrain his laughter as he tossed aside the bedsheets and rose to assist Shy in all of her agitation over her dress laces. "Turn around," he told her, and Shy obliged him. Guy gave a smart tug to the laces and as he tied them, Shy's frustration subsided. She managed a crooked, little smile, "You are quite adept at this," she noted with her wicked humor returning, "Just how many women have you helped hurry to dress in such a fashion."

"None," was Guy's monotone answer.

"You liar!" Shy laughed.

"None that I have taken any pleasure in assisting," Guy retorted, having finished with the laces, his arms snaked up over her shoulders to cross over her chest and press her back against his unclothed body. The soft fabric of Shy's dress felt cool and delicate against his warm skin. He smiled as Shy tilted her head back and kissed him. Guy readied another argument to convince Shy to linger in the room just a moment longer. He knew the moment he and Shy left the seclusion of his room she would retreat back into that hard, outer casement of spite and coated fear she wore and adjusted as well as the laces on her dress.

Shy parted from Guy and gathered up his fallen clothes and tossed them to him with a wry laugh as she sat down upon the edge of the bed, "Get yourself dressed, it won't do us any good to be late."

Guy knew that there was to be no further discussing the matter, and he resigned himself to another day of waiting until nightfall again. As he dressed, Guy's gaze constantly flickered over to where Shy was sitting patiently upon the bed. She was leaning back with her hands outstretched upon the mattress. She swung her legs freely so that her heel brushed against the piece of the quilt which hung below the bed. She was half watching him dress, and half focusing on the ceiling above her as her thoughts drifted. Guy saw the smile on her lips and he wagered Shy did not even know it was there. She was a woman at peace. For now, of course; the charm would not last. Guy was not so naïve as to believe that having only spent two nights together, Shy would suddenly be cured of the trauma that had haunted her all her life, and would probably continue to do so. While the stormy eyes were bright and calm for now, Guy could see the dark clouds moving in fast and the longer Shy drifted silently in her thoughts the faster the gray-sky eyes darkened, and the smile vanished.

Finished dressing, Guy darted over to Shy, wrapping an arm about her waist and bending her back so that she was almost lying flat upon the bed once again. She blinked in astonishment as he kissed her with similar passion as he had the previous night. The clouds in her eyes receded again and the smile returned. Guy mentally chided himself for selfishly delaying in questioning Shy about what was still troubling her. He just wanted her bright-eyed and miraculously happy while knowing that for once in his miserable life, he had been the cause of such a transformation.

"Shy, I..."

The words in Guy's throat suddenly lodged there as they collided with what he had unintentionally begun to say. Shy looked at him expectingly, waiting for him to finish his thought. Guy released her and allowed her to sit back up.

"What is it?" Shy asked.

Guy shook his head, feeling an unbearably pressure in his chest as he fought down the rise of an emotion he had tried to kill. "We're going to be late," he said. Shy was not a fool, but she knew when it was inappropriate to pry into Guy's thoughts. She slipped her shoes onto her feet and stood in the center of the chamber. Guy opened the door first and checked the halls for any sign of a passerby. With the way clear he left the room first. Shy began a slow count of ten after Guy departed. After her count, she made her way to the doorway and observed that she was alone. She walked with all deliberate speed from the chamber, silently she congratulated herself on surviving another morning without detection, and hurried to catch up with Guy so that they could arrive at the courtyard together.

Shy slipped her arm about Guy's by way of notifying him that she had caught up to him. Guy looked down at the cheerful woman on his arm. "Two days without a single soul to note our affairs. Do you take that as a good sign?"

"I think we should not push our luck too far," Shy said.

"I don't think that can be helped," Guy was rewarded for his moment of candor with a shove from Shy

"Nevertheless, I'll not live in sin with you, Guy of Gisborne."

"It is surely not a sin if I-" again words that he had no right to claim as his were at the front of his mind and tongue. He swallowed hard and stiffened his posture in the awkward silence which followed his self-interruption.

"If you, what?" Shy was not going to let a second stuttered sentence pass her by without comment. Once could be concealed as a mere slip of the tongue, but a second was a deliberate and violent halt to thoughts which would probably best be spoken.

"If I—if we, rather—are honest in the eyes of God," he coughed, reflecting on his own inner hypocrisy.

"To mention honesty in regards to our foolish," she kissed his hand, adding with a wink of her own mischief, "if not wonderful sin, is to admit one of us has been lying all along. Now, I know I have told you anything worth knowing about myself. What is it that you are concealing from me, Guy?"

He did not get the chance to answer Shy's question, for Guy made haste to open the Castle doors leading to the courtyard. Shy had to put away her gentle inspection, for the scene before her warranted no talk of something so intimate. She would not know how grateful Guy was to have arrived at that very moment.

The courtyard was crowded with men and women from the town, all anxious to see an execution carried out. The wood scaffold seemed to be borne on the backs of the peasants as they crowded, shoulder to shoulder, in hopes of catching a glimpse of the infamous Imposer who had made such a terror of their Lord Waleran and their city. Shy observed the two nooses being prepared by the hooded executioner. The man was short in stature, Shy had always pictured an executioner to be rather large and hulking. This man seemed almost normal, a simple man in a hood duty bound to preform his task just as any farmer would tend to his crops. The executioner tugged at the ropes, assessing that the knots were tied correctly and the stools which the prisoners would stand upon were sturdy, but not so sturdy as to not budge when kicked.

The Imposter and the criminal Lyle would be killed. The Imposter's followers were yet to be tried, but it was certain to be a fair and quick trial. Lord Waleran was eager to express his mercy to his people and it seemed the people were just as eager to put the affair behind them now that they had lost.

Sir Gavin and Lady Adela stood opposite of Sir Guy and Shy. Adela smiled tightly over at Shy from her step and Shy returned it with a more open expression. Lord Waleran stood on the center of the middle step, presiding over the sentencing. He looked rather tired, and he held the paper which would condemn two men to death. Sir Gavin looked proud and tall, taller than even his lord and master. Lady Adela was meek in her own pride, holding onto her husband's arm with a fierce clasp. She looked at him, knowing that this was his moment of triumph and for that she was glad for him, even if the knowledge she was about to witness death disturbed her gentle mind.

"I have never seen a hanging before," Shy commented to Guy, who was observing the others with equal fascination, "I wonder how it shall be."

Guy was not taken aback by the callous tone in Shy's voice, he expected no less from her. Lord Waleran's voice cut through the buzz of the crowd. "Bring forth the prisoners."

A cry was raised at the first sighting of the wretches as they were led to the scaffold by two guards. Shy recognized Lyle immediately and almost found herself pitying the poor man for the resigned pace of his stride. His companion walked without remorse, a skip evident in his step. This was the Imposer, and it was his figure which incited the crowd to hiss and shout obscenities. The excitement of the hanging had set the people aflame, Shy was unimpressed with the people's love of brutality. It did not shock her, it confirmed her every disdain.

As the prisoners were set up upon the stools and the executioner stood at the front of the scaffold, Lord Waleran unfurled the roll of parchment and read aloud in a clear, indifferent voice: "I, Lord Waleran of Warwick, do hereby charge these prisoners of treason. Having found them guilty of crimes against, not only their own lord, but of the people of this city, sentence them to death. They shall be hung by the neck until dead." He sighed as he rolled up the parchment, "Do the condemned have any final words?"

The Imposter stood still, his eyes never flickering from Lord Waleran. He had a smile on his face; still ever the predator, still defying his lord and giving himself up to delusion.

"I have something to say," Lyle announced, even the crowd gave way to silence to let the man speak his last. "I just want to apologize to the woman," He nodded to Shy, who found herself unable to meet his gaze. "I'm not saying I'm sorry for what I did, mind, but I just wanted to say I'm sorry for scaring the wench. I wouldn't have hurt her," he nodded again, pleased with himself for admitting his innocence on one count where his conscience had pricked him. "Just wanted her to know."

With his brief speech concluded, the executioner placed hoods over the prisoners and slipped the noose over their necks. The rope was tightened, and with the casual grace of a man accustomed to his profession, the executioner kicked the stools out from under the two men and watched them kick and dance in the air.

Lady Adela had turned away and had buried her face against Sir Gavin's shoulder. He had placed an arm about her and his head was pressed against the side of hers and he was whispering to her, even as he watched the prisoners die with a glare of hardened triumph. Shy merely watched it all with a blankness. Lyle's words had struck her, but she did not forget that he had not cared who had gotten in his way, and even if he had not wanted to hurt her, he would have if it had come to it. Mentally, she forgave him as soon as his struggles ceased and he swung lifeless on the rope, it was pointless to let him die without granting him such an effortless offering he could take with him to be judged before God.

"Are you all right?" Guy asked her as the executioner began to cut the bodies down and the crowd began to disperse back to town to gossip over the particular details of the hanging.

"I am fine. It was not nearly as dramatic as I thought these public executions were," Shy laughed, but was silenced from a serious look. "Guy, there are worse things to see than death. A hanging can hardly cause me to tremble."

Guy had to admit, that while he was proud that Shy was not given over to faints, he had hoped she might have startled herself enough to want to cling to him, just a bit. He had seen how Lady Adela had nestled herself against Sir Gavin and how her husband had had the pleasure of holding his wife and protecting her from the sight of something so tragic and unpleasant. Shy would be too proud to hide her face in public, and of course she had lived through and seen worse things. Still, Guy thought as he let go of his illusion, he would have liked the chance to hold her and shield her from her fears.

"There is a fair being held in town today," Guy said. "To celebrate the death of the Imposter."

"A fair and a hanging? My what a day." This time Shy's joke hit its mark, and Guy smirked.

"Shall we go?"

"Why not," Shy said, "I have never been to a fair either. I shall love to go and see all the women's faces melt with jealousy when they see who I have beside me." She grinned with a wicked light as she watched Guy's self-pride shoot up past the very towers of the Castle.

In the center of town music was playing and anyone with an instrument and a hint of talent was welcome to join. Children twirled and spun with one another, getting underfoot of the older dancers. Stalls of food were set up around the pavilion of performers and dancers and all were taking their share. The poorer folk and the better dressed merchants blended together amidst the celebrating; a few noblemen from the outlying estates and their families had come as well. The children of these local lords went to seek the same mischief with the little ones of the town and for once it was impossible to care who was without and who had plenty.

"It's so crowded," Shy said. She felt like an intruder upon this merry scene. How could she feel like a trapped mouse in a cage amid so much gaiety? She had wandered through the market stalls where flowers, lace patterns, and simple jewelery was being examined and sold. The dancing provided entertainment, and she liked to watch the men and woman make their way towards the center of the square and join in with the music. Shy thought Guy would be more accustomed to such sights, but even he appeared as much of an outsider as she. He was watching the peasants with a poorly concealed jealous contempt. Shy could not find an explanation for such a look. She reasserted her grip about his arm, and when Guy turned his gaze to her he was all attentiveness and kindness. It was as if she was walking with not one person, but two separate people entirely.

"Guy, why don't we go back?" Shy suddenly asked, feeling she would soon suffocate under the weight of all the people. "We have seen all there is to be seen of the festivities, why don't we go back to the Castle?"

"Why the sudden desire to leave?" Guy asked, "I thought you wanted to see the fair."

"I did, but..." she was aware of the large crowds and she could not keep her eye on all of the men. Once or twice she thought she saw one of the noblemen out of the corner of her eye, as if he was trying to sneak up on her. Feeding into that thought allowed the ember of paranoia to grow to a fire of fear, "but I've seen quite enough, I think, and it's so crowded. Can we not go back to the Castle? Hardly anyone would be there now, we could be alone. No one would miss us I think."

Guy shook his head, "These people won't hurt you, Shy, in fact, I hardly think they are interested in us. The crowd is nothing."

"But, I am-"

"You will stay with me, Shy, until this fear of yours is cast off and you come to realize that not everyone in this world is your enemy." The words felt strange in his own mouth. How many times had he been instructed that any stranger could be a potential foe? How many times had he learned from harsh experience that the world was full of unforgiving and vengeful souls? He felt as if he was lying to Shy, but he did not think any amount of truth or lie would give Shy cause to shrug off her cautious nature. At least he could stem the irrational fear, he could get her to control her paranoia and use it as a defense instead of a madness. Then the lie would not be such a blight between them after all.

Shy's eyes narrowed, "Are you ordering me to stay?"

"Yes, but not in the way you imagine."

Something in Guy's gaze must have caused Shy to believe what he was saying whether or not Shy was comfortable with the tone of his voice and the order she did not wish to follow. "Very well," she said, "I will say."

They walked on and soon the moment of chilled conversation was past and Shy had forgotten her momentary panic over the crowds of Warwick. Guy was even finding cause to enjoy himself when Lady Adela, having spotted them, came hurrying up to them with an enthusiastic grin on her usually serene features.

"Sir Guy. Shy," she curtseyed, "Are you enjoying the festival?"

"Very much," Shy answered for them both. "And you? Where is Sir Gavin?"

"He only left a moment ago to accompany Lord Waleran. I was hoping that I might seek you out. Sir Guy, might I beg for your permission to have Shy accompany me for a time?"

Shy looked up at Guy with a half-hearted plea to keep her with him, the sudden fear of the crowds coming back. Guy answered Lady Adela with a quipped tone, "Of course, my lady."

Guy gave Shy's hand a reassuring squeeze as he removed his arm from about hers. His eyes seemed to be relaying a silent message to Shy that she would be fine with her friend, but Shy could also see the disappointed dimness as he left her. It only echoed her own bereft feelings. Lady Adela filled the gap and slipped an arm about her friend's. "There is to be a feast tonight, at the Castle," Lady Adela said in a conspiratorial whisper, "and I would greatly like to see you there as my chosen companion."

"Oh, my lady, I am not sure I would be the right woman to ask. You know how I am," Shy tried to resist falling over in her hurry to excuse herself from her friend's invitation.

"No, no, it's nothing so grand as anything you believe," Lady Adela laughed, "There will not be a great deal of people present, only a few of the noble families will be in attendance. You will enjoy yourself, I promise. And at any rate we will spend a pleasant evening amongst ourselves."

"Well...what am I to wear?" Shy said, landing on the perfect excuse to refuse, "I have nothing save for this and you can't very well present me as your companion dressed as I am."

"The very reason I wanted to get you alone. We shall go to a remarkable seamstress I know in town. She has a great many suitable gowns she could fit to your size. Did you think I would embarrass you?"

"Is there anything I could say to convince you to change your mind?" Shy said.

"Nothing, I'm afraid. It is all done, I am set on seeing you have a good time."

"In that case I will have to bear it as best I can," Shy laughed, allowing Lady Adela to carry the victory of the day.

* * *

**A/N: Yes, what you saw happen really happened. XD So Shy and Guy's time in Warwick is nearing it's conclusion, they'll be off to Rotherham soon and the next part of the story will be underway. Maybe there'll be a few familiar faces to be seen. Who knows? :) **

**Feel free to leave a review!  
**


	21. The Persistence of Nightmares

XXI

The Persistence of Nightmares

The mirror in the chamber was not altogether suitable for admiring one's reflection. It stopped short just above the knee and it was positioned at an angle, so that if one wanted to see one's own head they must bend slightly. The face could be seen in the glass, but by bending lower they further cut off necessary visual of the waist and legs.

Shy negotiated with the mirror for a time, eventually settling to just standing straight and staring at the half-legged and beheaded image of herself. She was not altogether sure that the faceless figure in the mirror really was her. The image in the mirror wore a flowing gown of green over a lighter colored linen robe. A sleeveless surcoat of a heavy, darker shade was wrapped over the gown and robe. Shy raised a much restricted arm to touch at the buckle around her collar from which the gown was fastened, it hung like the pendant of a necklace about the base of her throat. She tried to contemplate the weight of the clothing, which felt twice as big as her. She could not move about much, the bands on the sleeves of the robe were attached at the waist which made the garment itself appear to move like a sail in the wind, but her arms themselves felt pinned to her side.

There came a knock at her door and just as swiftly, it was opened and Lady Adela walked into the room. Shy turned and gave a gasp of delight at the sight of the usually plain and modestly dressed woman. "My lady," she said, "by Heaven you look like an angel." This did not feel like exaggeration. Lady Adela wore a gown of light blue and white in much the same fashion as Shy, but her surcoat was sleeved, giving her a more slender and ethereal figure.

Lady Adela blushed a little and curtseyed as she strode to wear Shy was standing by the mirror. "Look at you," she said, "Not even finished getting dressed yet!"

"I was only-"

"Come, come," Lady Adela said with a smile as she brought a chair for her and had her seat herself before the mirror.

At last Shy's face came into view and she had to admit that it truly was her trapped in the mirror. The figure stared at her with wide and wary eyes. Her hair was tied up tight in a single braid. It had taken her the better half of an hour just to beat her hair into submission. Lady Adela picked up the neglected linen cap and began to pull back Shy's raven hair into both cap and and veil. Lappets hung down to her shoulder, and while the headdress was not nearly as elaborate and fine as Lady Adela's, Shy felt far and away from her own self as Lady Adela placed the finishing touches on her hair and cap.

"There now," Lady Adela replied, placing her hands on her friend's shoulder. She grinned into the mirror, contradicting the serious expression beside her. "Do we not look a sight?"

Shy managed a small smile in jest. "A sight? Indeed, that it is one way of putting it."

"You look lovely, Shy. Do not be so hard upon yourself."

"Do you not feel as if you are passing off a pauper in fine clothes?" Shy asked.

"I feel as if I am about to share a happy event with a dear friend, and that is all I feel, I assure you," Lady Adela said with such unabashed tones Shy nearly felt guilty for giving into her own self-pity. Adela allowed Shy to rise from the chair and the two left the bedchamber.

The fading light streaming into the corridors reminded Shy just how long she had been in her chambers preparing for the evening's continued festivities. The day had disappeared in the blink of an eye. Lady Adela had taken her first to the seamstress she had spoken so highly about. She had kept her head spinning with the trial and error of finding the proper build of a gown and the right color, and a great deal more minute details Shy could not understand. A suitable dress had been discovered and while the industrious seamstress went about altering the material, Lady Adela had taken Shy on a whirlwind of finding the rest of the outfit: buckles, shoes, caps, belts. Shy could not have imagined the simple action of dressing to be so complicated. She was used to plain linen gowns tied with a belt or attached with a buckle. This was a production which had required all of her patience.

Walking in the material proved something of a challenge as well. The many layers made her feel heavier and she could easily have imagined she was walking lower towards the ground then before, her head dipped with the added weight of the cap about her head. She could already feel her wild, raven hair straining against the many pins and ribbons holding it in place and under her cap. Shy glanced over at Lady Adela. She seemed delighted to be walking with a friend at her side that Shy felt the heart of all complaints die. She would present herself as her ladyship's companion for the night, because she could see how happy this made her, and hadn't Lady Adela put up with her whining enough?

They were to meet with Sir Gavin and Sir Guy before entering the Great Hall. As the two women turned down the corridor leading to the Hall, the sounds of conversation and music could already be heard. Shy at once gave up the idea that this would be some horror-filled evening. It sounded pleasant enough, and was she not surrounded by enough friends to dull the presence of the strangers who would be in attendance?

Shy covered her mouth with her hand as she restrained herself from uttering a loud exclamation which leaned towards the blasphemous. Even Lady Adela seemed to understand her momentary shock upon seeing the sight which greeted them. Sir Gavin took his delighted wife by the arm, leaving Shy free to discover the other man before her.

Surely this was not the same Sir Guy she had known all this time? He had discarded his old, rough jacket in favor of a black, leather coat. Barely visible at the collar was the trim of a dark tunic. The golden colored clasps on the coat trailed straight up and down from the collar to the line of his trousers. His hair had been cut short, parted at the side and falling just to the middle of his neck in the back where it almost wanted to curl upward in places. He was clean shaven, and Shy had to congratulate herself on even recognizing the man. When she had finished taking in the sight of him, she realized that he had been staring at her with equal disbelief in his eyes. Shy raised a hand to his face and brushed his hair, still unruly even when cropped, out of his eyes. She tried to speak; she must remind herself that this was not some stranger. This was Guy! For God's sake she could always talk to Guy!

"You look well," Guy managed to say.

Shy struggled not to laugh at the clumsy words. She saw a redness creep up into Guy's pale face and he coughed, "Beautiful—you look...you look..."

"Thank you," she said, putting the awkward man out of his misery. "And you—I should hardly have known you."

"Shall we go in?" Lady Adela asked, a conspiratorial glimmer in her eyes as she addressed her star-struck friends. The invitation was greeted with whole-hearted acceptance.

Sir Guy offered Shy his arm, and Shy was more than pleased to have him beside her as she walked in to what she believed was bound to be a den of wolves. The scene in the Great Hall shattered Shy's expectations so completely she was left without speech. The Hall was lit by a roaring fire in the hearth and all about torches blazed cheerily. The long table was filled with the Lord Waleran's guests. The people were conversing in warm tones while a small group of minstrels played a soft tune. Noblemen conversed with one another and they were all far from the imposing figures Shy had envisioned. These were whole families. Wives sat beside their husbands and a few of the families with older children had their daughters and sons with them. The company spoke as old friends, and when on of the younger girls let out a raw, high, laugh, Shy was suddenly struck by the sweetness of it all.

Guy led her down the steps and if it had not been for him, Shy was certain she would have fallen for staring and not watching where she placed her feet. Lady Adela and Sir Gavin approached Lord Waleran first, and Sir Guy and Shy were careful to maintain their place behind them. But the lord of Warwick seemed vastly different then how he had been in the morning. The exhaustion had left him, perhaps due to the influence of the merry company of friends. He welcomed the latest guests with a wide smile and a booming laugh Shy was unaccustomed to. She had only ever seen him as the stern-eyed commander. She much rather preferred this side of him.

Lord Waleran had Sir Gavin and Sir Guy sit near him, leaving Lady Adela and Shy to their own company. "Well," Waleran laughed, "it seems I have retained the right to preside as lord and master over my own lands."

"It would seem so, my lord," Gavin replied, filling a goblet with wine.

"At perhaps the murder of my own brother, too, eh?" Lord Waleran laugh into his own cup.

Gavin shook his head, placing a hand on Waleran's shoulder, which to anyone watching would appear as only a gesture between friends. "Not so, my lord," Gavin replied quietly as he lowered Waleran's cup with a subtle motion. He quickly snatched it up to make sure Lord Waleran would not be able to refill it again. Lord Waleran looked sullen for only a moment before he saved face and addressed Guy with a wide smile, "And how have you found Warwick now, Sir Guy? Quite different than as it was when you first arrived."

"Yes, my lord," Guy replied, having not missed any of the quiet interaction between the old friends. "Vastly different."

"Perhaps we can expect to see you here on many more such occasions, eh?" Waleran said.

Guy only nodded his head, "Perhaps."

"I'll expect your answer to my former proposal tomorrow. The week is out at last, Sir Guy."

Guy glanced quickly over at Shy, but luckily she was engaged in her own conversation with Lady Adela and had not heard any of what had passed. "You will have my answer, my lord," Guy said, his eyes trained on Shy. Indeed, he would receive an answer one way or another. He watched Shy for a time as she interacted with Lady Adela and was introduced to the noblewoman's acquaintances and friends. Guy could almost imagine she belonged here. She looked far lovelier than he had ever seen. To the untrained eye, she could have passed for nobility, but Guy saw the hesitation in her every movement and the polite, yet critical stare in her gray eyes as she acknowledged a stranger's greetings. She was on guard. Her head was never still, she glanced from one side of the table to the other. No one could be out of her sight for very long. If a man stood up from the table to walk over to speak to a friend, she nearly jumped from her seat herself to get a better look at where he was going. Guy knew she did not belong. She played her part well and enjoyed it when she was speaking to Lady Adela alone, but this was not the life for Shy: a life of constant surveillance and second glances. Guy knew she had no cause to feel unsafe, but he could not deny her her fears. He could dull them, he could distract them, but he doubted he possessed the ability to make them vanish entirely. He did not like watching Shy in such a state of controlled terror and from then until the feast had ended, he made a concentrated effort to be the most attentive listener to any who spoke to him, and did not dare to look over his shoulder.

The people lingered long after the feast had ended. They drank and talked, some of the younger boys and girls had called for a dance and they had been indulged. Guy watched them for a time, he could not be sure if he was amused at their antics or if it was the pleasant warmth of drink making him believe so. He turned back to look at Shy, who seemed to be having more trouble now keeping track of everyone now that people had felt free to move about the hall. Her eyes caught his own and she smiled at him, but Guy saw the plea for help and he rose from the table and walked over to her. "Forgive me if I seem impertinent, my lady," he said formerly with a bow of his head, "but you look as if you could use some air."

"Yes," Shy said, hoping she did not sound over eager as she rose from her chair, "The hall is rather warm, is it not?" She smiled to the other ladies she had been conversing with, including Adela, "Excuse me, my ladies."

With leave to go, she accepted Guy's arm and he led her straight away from the hall and out into the cool outer corridor. Alone, Shy gave a great gasp as if she had not been able to breathe all night. A hand was upon her chest as she leaned against a the wall, choking as she tried to force air into her starving lungs. Guy hushed her, not knowing what else to do but stand by her. "I can't...I can't do this. Please don't make me go back in there."

"We are going back in there," Guy said, a steadying hand upon her back.

"No!"

"I've indulged you in your fears long enough," Guy said.

"You have no understanding of what I-"

"They are terrors of your own making, Shy. No one will hurt you. Not here. Go back inside and see. I understand fear, Shy, but I can not abide a woman who shrinks from her own weak fantasies. You are better than that." He half expected her to slap him, but instead she merely looked at him with a resigned and shamed countenance.

"Help me."

The plea tugged at him. "I can't, this is something you must solve on your own."

Shy held Guy for a moment, working up the courage to agree with him. Guy kissed her, feeling that he had done the wrong thing in forcing her go back into the Hall. Yet, if she did not try now, then when? He was relieved to see that she did not seem to bear him any resentment. He took hold of her hand once more and led her back into the whirling gaiety of the feast.

"You had best let go of my hand, Guy," Shy said as she scanned the room for Lady Adela and the other woman she had been engaged with previously. Upon seeing them she gave them a slight nod. Lady Adela, at once relaxed, having straightened up in her seat in agitation of her friend's return. "If I am to do this, it must be done alone."

Guy let her go, feeling confused at her straightforward speech. Had she merely stated she was willing to accept his advice and face her fears with courage? Or had she spat his words back in his face? Hurt, although unrighteously, Guy resigned himself to watching her from a fair distance for the rest of the evening.

* * *

_The barracks were always unnecessarily cold, but the guards never minded as long as they were given a fair amount of ale or wine to keep the chill at bay. The floors were freezing, and Shy shivered as she sat huddled near one of the cots the furthest from the center where all the guards were busy with a game. She should have known better than to anger the master, if she had just bitten her lip and done as she had been told like a good girl she would not be sitting on the unbearably cold floor. She would be back on her pallet near the warmth of the kitchens, maybe even one of the servants would have given her scraps left over from supper._

_Occasionally one of the guards wandered over to her and fondled her. The more addled they became the harder they grabbed at her. At last one of them got it into his head to drag her from her outcast position so that she might sit closer to them all. Shy walked with frozen legs, half from the cold and half from fear. She sat down on one of the chairs and watched the men continue with their play. She saw a look of disgust cross over a few of the guards' faces at the way she was manhandled, but none of them had the wit to speak out to his comrade. Shy looked up at the few who knew her situation to be deplorable. Each time she was sent to the barracks to keep the guards company she played this silent game with them. She prayed with all her soul that one day they would finally grow so sick with the scenes they witnessed one of them would defend her._

_So distracted with her own silent prayers she hardly felt the hand down her torn, old, and far-too-big-for-her-own-scrawny-size-dress. She resisted the urge to claw at the invasive hand, even though the man was not manipulating her flesh harshly. When someone lifted her skirt up she kicked. This was only the beginning. One of the guards took her fully in his arms and kissed her upon the mouth. She tried hard not to gag. The game was up. Once again she had brought the pain upon herself. If she had been willing to sit quietly the guards would not have halted their drink or their game for better sport. She knew they waited for her to become fired up before diverting their attentions upon her. She was not the only victim in this event, oftentimes an unlucky servant girl was caught by the unruly men and was brutalized by them, but never to the extent that Shy was. A servant girl had rights, minor though there were, a guard could still be brought to justice if caught ravishing a poor serving maid. Shy had no rights. Shy was nothing. Shy was sport._

_That was when she saw Brennan walk into the barracks. She screamed, but much to her horror no sound came from her mouth. She shouted his name, ecstatic to see him. He would help her. He always broke up the guards merriment and took her away, or at least kept her in his own bed to warn others away from her. This time though, he leaned against the door with a smile on his face. Shy tried shouting again, but he did not seem to acknowledge her cries. He laughed and the evil sound filtered through Shy's ears like the crackle of hell-fire. She let out a breathless scream again as the guards descended on her like a pack of ravenous wolves._

In that instant, Shy sat up in bed and the scream she had been striving to achieve during her nightmare finally emerged. The sound evaporated into choked gasps and she covered her mouth with her hand as she tried to still her shriek.

Guy came awake at once, "Shy?"

She began to shiver violently and found she could not stop the tremors. "N-n-nightmare," she said, "n-nothing, go back t-t-to sleep."

Guy sat up, unable to see her face in the dark, he still placed his hands on either side of her head, feeling her shivering and judging from her voice the distress she was in. "What was it?" he asked, his voice returning to normal after the shock.

Shy shook her head, taking his hands and moving them away from her. "You do not need t-t-to know."

"You wake up screaming in the middle of the night, and I do not need to know?"

"I do not want to tell you," Shy said in such a way that Guy had the distinct feeling she was protecting him by her silence. She very slowly brought herself against Guy and wrapped her arms about him with a fierce need to hide herself from her own mind.

There was silence for a time before Guy spoke, "It is my fault," he said, stroking her hair and placing an arm about her, "I should have listened to you when you told me you had had enough of the crowd. Forgive me."

"N-n-no," Shy swallowed, trying to still the shivering, "What you said was right. P-p-please don't blame yourself."

"What can I do?" Guy asked, "Is there anything I can-"

"You are doing enough right now," Shy whispered, "Just hold me until I fall asleep."

Guy nodded even though he knew Shy could not see him. He held Shy tight against him, feeling her tremors lessen with every passing second. Even when she managed to fall back to sleep, Guy remained awake, as if thinking if he stayed so he could battle her nightmares away. He did not like how helpless Shy had made him. What must she have been dreaming about that she could not even dare to tell him? Anger flooded him. If he ever met this Foster of Rotherham he would kill him, and any other man who had hurt Shy. Images of the thousand tortures and deaths he could concoct for Foster and his men burned into his brain, even as he held Shy gently.

She could not go back to Rotherham. Even though she said her village was a fair distance from the town, she could easily be recognized by a guard or the lord himself if he went riding through. Then she would be back in his clutches, or worse, murdered out of spite. He could not bear the thought of her back among the man who had broken her, nor could he entertain the image of her corpse left to rot on the highway. She must stay with him. She must stay with him because it was safer, because here she was among friends. He would send for her father, there was no reason why he could not leave Rotherham for a better life in Warwick with his daughter. She had to stay because he had no purpose without her, because she was his only friend, because he loved her. He loved her. He knew that in his selfless desire to stay awake to make sure she slept peacefully—and he was not a selfless man. He knew he loved her and probably had loved her for a good long while now. He kissed her forehead, mouthing words of love against her ear, safe in the silence and the knowledge she could not hear him. It could no longer be put off, sleep came for Guy at last, and he drifted off a more contented man then he had before, assured in the knowledge that at last the woman he loved cared for him as well.

* * *

Shy awoke to the glossy light of morning attempted to stream through the dark curtains. She groaned in open rebellion and rolled over. Behind her, she heard a low, amused laugh. She opened one eye and a smile cracked her tired face. She turned back again and buried herself against the man beside her. Guy's laughter doubled and Shy was pleased to hear the rare sound of unabashed enjoyment from the sullen man. He kissed her forehead, and Shy felt herself grow red with heat as if she had never felt him kiss her before, and to be sure, there was a distinct difference in the feel of his lips against her skin, and the position of his arms about her body. She could not quite place what it was, and then- "Guy," she propped herself up on one arm, "last night..."

He shook his head, "You do not have to apologize. It was a nightmare," he kissed her again, "it is past now."

Shy was mystified. She thought Guy would have demanded she tell him what she had dreamt, for she knew he would not have been pleased to have been kept in the dark. "So it has," she said, barely managing to utter even those simple words before her lips were reclaimed by Guy's.

"There is something I would say to you, Shy," Guy said with a conspiratorial whisper.

"Oh? That is interesting, for this is something I wanted to tell you as well," Shy said, stroking back Guy's hair, but secretly holding him at bay from kissing her again. He seemed altogether too giddy for a man of his kind.

Guy thrilled at Shy's words. "Tell me first," he said, giving her leave to speak. Perhaps she meant to say the very thing that was screaming to get out of him. He yearned to tell her, and feared he would utter it at any moment, but it would far sweeter if she were to tell him first. Then he would know without a doubt of her feelings and he would be in no danger of his own love being repulsive to her.

"Well, it is more of a question I suppose," Shy said not understanding why Guy at once became all attention, "The second week is out, as you know, and I...I can not stay another day longer. I say we make for Rotherham as planned. May we not ask Lord Waleran for permission to leave?"

She saw Guy's eyes flicker away from the happiness he had been feeling and Shy felt the need to explain herself, "Last night I realized more than ever how I need to go home, how much was taken from me. I want to see my house, and I want to see my father again. You told me I could not run from my fears any longer. I will not hide or run again."

She still wanted to go to Rotherham? But how could that be when the place held so many horrors for her? He could see the eager light in her eyes, the love she still held for her lost father and childhood home. There was nowhere even the hint of consideration for himself. Shy tried to liven his spirits, "But you will come with me of course!" She kissed his cheek, nuzzling him, trying to coax another smile from him, "You look as if I was about to leave you. If you fear that, you need not, Guy."

But she had just asked to leave him. He could not live a life far removed from any chance of position or ambition. It would not suit him to spend his days as a peasant, knowing he could have far more, and that he had far more waiting for him. He would accompany Shy back to Rotherham, because he could not refuse her when she seemed so certain, or so happy in the knowledge she would be reunited with her family. The joy he had imagined himself into vanished once he nodded his consent. She embraced him wildly, causing him to fall back upon the bed, but he was too immersed in his own thoughts to respond. "Oh," Shy gasped, "but you said you had something to tell me as well? What was it?"

Guy merely shook his head, "It is not important now."

* * *

**A/N: Onward and upward as they say. So, Guy is going to stay true to his word and take Shy back to Rotherham, but what will be waiting for them once they arrive? And will Guy really abandon Shy? I'm teasing, but there is definitely more to come.**


	22. Departure

XXII

Departure

"My lord, you have been patient in your desire for an answer for your former offer of land and title. With the week out, I am prepared to give you my answer. I have given it thought and consideration, my lord. I can at times be an impulsive man, and I would not have you believe that I have considered your promises trifling. With that said, I accept your offer, my lord."

Guy's brief speech was met with an unsurprised, good-natured reaction from Lord Waleran. "Good man," he said slapping his hand upon the the table. "There is nothing for it but to make it all official. We shall get you on your new estates by this time tomorrow."

"My lord," Guy interrupted, "I will not be ready to official claim my estates as of yet."

"I do not understand you, Sir Guy," Lord Waleran replied, "You say that you have accepted my offer, but you are not willing to take me up on it at once?"

"It is not meant as an offense to you or your generosity," Guy made a point of saying. He had practiced this conversation before making his entrance into the Lord's private study, but now he found himself dancing around the issue at hand. He sighed, deciding it was best to come straight to the point, "Shy has asked me to request your permission to leave Warwick, seeing as how she has proven far from a threat to you. She desires to return home to Rotherham, my lord, and with supplies and means of transport as promised."

Lord Waleran sat back in his seat, reflecting upon this bit of news. He eyed Sir Guy, gauging his reaction to this admission. "It is a funny thing, and I hope you do not find this impertinent of me, Sir Guy, but I thought Shy would have found ample reason to give up this mission of hers."

"I do find it impertinent of you, my lord," Guy could not conceal the snap in his voice. "Shy has only asked for what is owed her. There was never a reason for her to be questioned in her motives."

"Your pardon then, my friend," Lord Waleran said, "Well, I will miss the mad, little creature. I believe I was beginning to grow fond of her ways. Were not we all, hm?"

Guy said nothing, his eyes fixed to the table-top. Waleran dropped his gentle teasing, "You will accompany Shy back to Rotherham?"

"Yes, my lord, as I promised her."

"And then you will return to Warwick?"

"Yes, my lord. Hopefully to be of good service to you."

"Then you may tell Shy, that she can expect enough supplies to take her to Rotherham and a good horse to carry her on her way."

"Thank you, my lord," Guy said, trying not to imagine how he would be able to ride away from Shy once they reached Rotherham. The pull of impending separation was nauseating. He knew he should be reveling in the time he had left with Shy, but he found he could not even look her in the eye without seeing the string of empty years before him. She could move on, and she would. She might grieve his absence for a while, maybe even a long while, but eventually she would wake to her senses and freedom again and she would continue with her life. For him there would be no one after her, considering she should never have been brought to him in the first place. He was not supposed to have fallen in love with her, he had not thought he was even capable of the emotion, so complete was his previous loss. But Shy was unexpected in every possible way. He was blessed to have known such a happiness for even those few brief days, for it had only been days that he had truly acknowledged his own heart and mind. It was proof enough God had not turned His back on him completely. He would live an honorable and honest life until the end of his days, or he would try to understand what such a life contained. He would keep his love for Shy, but it would be had at a distance. He could not live in her world and she certainly could not live in his. They had intermixed for only a moment in passing, it was enough. It would have to be enough.

Guy rose from his chair and dismissed himself from the study to seek out Shy and tell her the good news. She would light up the moment he told her they could leave the next morning. She would be all smiles and excitement, and the storms in her eyes would pass over and be as bright as a morning on the open sea. She'd exist as a woman without nightmares or fears. And he'd be reminded all over again how he had come to love her so.

He did not have long to wait for his imaginings to become reality, for Shy was waiting around the corner. When she spotted him she nearly pounced upon him, eager for information. "What did Lord Waleran say?"

In contrast to Shy's anxious behavior, Guy very calmly lowered his head to press a kiss to her flushed cheek and said, "By this time tomorrow we will be well on the way to Rotherham."

Shy jumped up and threw her arms about Guy, "I knew he would give us leave to go! And we are to get supplies as well?"

"Enough to last us through the journey, and we are to have a horse too."

"Then we shall make it home in half the time! Oh, home! Guy, I'm going home!" Shy choked on her final words. It felt unbelievable. She had waited and planned all this time, years of failed escapes and detours which had taken her further away from her destination all should have put the notion out of her head of ever seeing her village again, but it was to be after all. It was only a matter of days. Shy tried to conjure up the image of her home. It appeared like a haze of green in her mind's eye, but it vanished. She was only slightly disappointed with her inability to remember what her village looked like. Perhaps it was best she had no recollection, that way if anything had changed she would not be too disappointed at what had happened in the years she had been kept away. She tried to remember her father, instead. For an instant she thought she had it; a rather tall man, with the same dark complexion she had—no, but it faded as well and Shy could not be sure if half of that image had been memory or embellished figment of her imagination. This did disturb her. Home had been a beacon for her since the day she had been sold into Lord Foster's service. It was so close at hand, but it did not feel any less like a dream. She was still holding tight to Guy. He was certainly quite real, and felt almost as good as all of her dreams of home ever had. She hugged him tighter, not about to let on to her sudden doubts.

Guy, meanwhile, was far from noticing Shy's shifting emotions. He nearly had Shy lifted off of her feet and he was not about to let her go. Shy had initiated the embrace, he would wait for her to finish it. For now he was content to hold her. His face partially buried against her dark hair. His eyes were closed; he felt Shy's grasp tighten further about him, and he sighed lightly. _Don't leave me, _he wished he could whisper to her, but she must already be quite gone from him in her own thoughts. How could he be expecting her to be thinking of him when her home was so close?

* * *

"I never imagined you leaving us," Lady Adela said speaking for both herself and her husband.

"You knew that by the end of two weeks I'd be off again," Shy said as she helped Guy saddle the horse.

They were out in the courtyard nearly ready to be on their way. Shy was tying off the saddle bag and assuring that everything was in place. She faced her friends with a bright-eyed smile which spoke of her joy to finally be making for the road once again. Guy, on the other hand, was silent and taciturn as he went about his tasks without a word or a glance at Shy.

"I know, but...I suppose I thought you might change your mind," Lady Adela had noticed Guy's mood, she wondered how Shy could be so oblivious to it.

"There," Shy said, "that's the last of it." She turned to look at Lady Adela and the smile dimmed, "Oh, my dear friend, please do not look at me with such a sour face."

"Well, how am I to help it? You are going and we shall never see you again."

"Never see me again? How dramatic we are! I am free to come and go where I will. I know my letters, and I will write often and I will expect frequent responses. Did you think I would just abandon you two to the wind?" Shy embraced Lady Adela, an action which startled the woman immensely, for Shy had never been so open in her affections towards her before. "Good-bye, my lady. Your friendship is an invaluable treasure, truly, I am not sure how to express my gratitude."

"You might stay?"

Shy laughed, "I am afraid that is impossible." She felt uncommonly guilty in this farewell. She tried to shake off the feeling as she went to Sir Gavin and held out her hand for him to shake. Gavin had a wry smile upon his face as he accepted the gesture.

"I suppose we have become friends after all, eh, Shy?" he said.

"Despite all my better judgements," she replied with equal wit, "I think I have it in my heart to even miss you, sir."

"I am overwhelmed," Sir Gavin winked at her and released her hand.

Guy's farewell to Lady Adela and Sir Gavin seemed to be handled with far less emotion in Shy's view. He bowed to the lady who said her good-byes with a casual word which seemed unsuited to such an occasion. He clasped hands with Sir Gavin as well and the knight had specific words for him,

"Farewell, my friend. Keep yourself and the Fiendish One safe," then he tugged upon Guy's arm, bringing him in close so that he might whisper to him, "And if you do not have that woman married and set up as she deserves upon your return, I will kill you." He grinned as he released Guy, uttering another, rather loud farewell as Guy sulked away to the horse.

Guy mounted the horse and held out his hand to help Shy up behind him. Once situated, Guy set the horse at a light walk from the Castle courtyard out into the town. Shy managed a wave good-bye to the couple and felt her euphoria slip even further from her. She kept her head craned back to the Castle and the courtyard as they rode further into the town and down from the hill-rise. She even fancied she missed the gardens she had made her bed in for those two weeks, and the corridors she walked each morning. And what of the cramped rooms in the gatehouse where she and Guy had spent many evenings with one another? She already felt a longing for the routine of her and Lady Adela's mornings spent in friendly conversation, and her evening lessons with Guy. The familiarity of the Castle and the brief life she had lived there were so clear in her mind, standing out in place of where her thoughts of Rotherham and her father should be. As they rode into the center of town and all that could be seen of the Castle were the tops of the towers and the edges of the battlements, Shy turned her head forward to face the road before her.

Out of the windy streets of the town, the open road felt like a desert which stretched for miles. Isolation was to be hand at every turn. Oh, the passing traveler and merchant's wagon was a common enough sight, but no one stopped to even nod in acknowledgment of one another. Everyone was busy in an effort to reach their destination in as timely a fashion as possible. There was not even conversation to be had, for Guy rode in silence and Shy could not think of what to say. She sighed heavily, thinking it would get Guy's attention and he would speak to her, but there was no such luck to be had. Frowning a bit, but unable to find cause to blame him for the lack of speech, Shy leaned forward and let her head rest against Guy's back. She felt him stir a little at the contact and for a moment he transferred the reigns to one hand while he placed his newly freed one atop her own, which were about his waist. The silence did not feel half so tiresome after that.

They rode for the entire day, but towards evening the sky darkened for rain and it became necessary to find shelter and rest for the night. They had past an inn not long before the rainclouds had begun to gather, so they decided to double back and make for the promise of a warm meal and a bed. The inn was not far from its neighboring village and many a farm hand was inside taking his ease from the storm, which broke not long after Guy and Shy had set their horse up in the stables.

Shy shook the light raindrops from her hair with a toss of her head and rubbed her chilled hands together. Fresh bread and ale was served to them and Shy tucked into the simple meal with her usual enthusiasm when it came to food. She tried not to guzzle the ale down, but she had not had a drink since she had set out that morning, her thirst had not decided to make itself known until now. And the drink shook away the remnants of the outside chill. Once satiated, they were shown up to their room for the night. It was of sizable distinction, the inn not having many travelers staying, with two beds a virtuous distance apart. A distance, which Shy had to resist laughing at while the innkeeper was still in the room.

Shy sighed and stretched herself out on one of the beds as she stared out the darkened window to where the rain was beginning to fall quite heavily. "At this rate we will never reach Rotherham."

"We should be there in three days, Shy, that is far from never," Guy replied as he threw his cloak over a chair and focused on removing his boots.

"You know," Shy sat up, "you have been behaving like a sullen boy this whole day. If something is troubling you Guy, you had best tell me."

"Nothing is troubling me," Guy grunted.

"That only makes me certain something is."

"It is nothing, Shy."

"Guy..."

"_I said it is nothing!_" Guy said with a shout on the very edge of his rough voice. He saw Shy's eyes widen and her arm raise off of the bed slightly as if to deflect his shout as she would a blow to the head. He licked his lips nervously, "I am sorry," he apologized for his tone, not for his words, "You are allowed moments where you will not explain yourself. Give me the same respect."

"Oh," Shy placed a hand to her lips, "This is about that nightmare?"

"No, Shy, let it go."

"Guy, I will tell you now if my silence is truly disturbing you that much. I did not think you would still be thinking of it. You should have told me sooner."

Guy had no desire to hear of what her nightmare had contained. He knew what was tangled in the slumbering mind of the troubled and traumatized. There was nothing of the bizarre or surreal, there were only wild shadows of the truth. He did not want to hear what past memories had been haunting Shy's mind. The sound of her scream had been sufficient enough. He shook his head at her. "That is not what is troubling me. Do not continue with your explanation."

Shy sighed again, now seeing him in distress over her near recounting of her experiences. "Guy, you confuse me so sometimes."

A loud crash of thunder interrupted the heated conversation. Shy went ridged at the threatening sound. A sparkling flash of lightening streaked across the window before being accompanied by that terrifying percussion once again.

"Come to bed, Shy," Guy made his way to the bed Shy had staked out for her own and gestured for her to get under the covers. In a trice, Shy was rid of boots, cloak, and dress. She pulled open the blankets and threw them up and over her, aided in her haste at the sound of another thunderclap.

"I did not ask you this before, but why do you hate thunderstorms so much?" Guy asked as he took the liberty of assuming their argument dissolved therefore his arms about her would not be contested.

"I don't hate thunderstorms, really," Shy said, "I find the lightening quite beautiful to watch. It's—" a crash interrupted her momentarily, "It's the thunder. When I was younger it was almost too loud to be bearable. I suppose now it is more the memory of discomfort than anything."

"I used to hate storms when I was a child."

"What? You? Truly?" Shy could have laughed, but she bit her lip, seeing the serious expression on Guy's face.

He nodded. "Eventually I decided it wasn't worth the effort anymore."

"It sounds as if God is beating the Earth. That used to make me cry." This statement fell heavily between them. Guy bundled Shy into his arms, having learned that if he could not find something to say back to her of any value or comfort it was best to simply hold her, although best for whom he could not say. Sleep stole through the storm, and not even the thunder managed to disturb that blissful state of unconsciousness.

* * *

They left the next morning, but the muddy road slowed them up so that they did not cover as much ground as they had yesterday. Two days into their journey and they were riding through a dense forest that seemed to stretch on and on. "Where are we?" Shy asked Guy, getting the sense that the narrow road they were traversing was far from the main one.

"This is Sherwood Forest," Guy told her.

"Sherwood? We're in Nottingham?" Shy asked wondrously now looking at the expanse of trees with a newfound light.

"Yes, but not for long," Guy said, urging the horse into a faster gallop.

"Might we see your home?" Shy asked, "Could we pass through Locksley?"

"No," Guy's tone brooked no argument. "It is too dangerous. I am a dead man here, Shy. I can't afford to be seen."

"I understand," Shy said, "It is just...I do not know when I'll have another chance to see where it is that you came from."

"Are you charming me, woman?"

"Yes, is it working?"

"Not a chance," Guy retorted.

Shy laughed, not really anticipating he could be won over so easily. She did not doubt that Nottingham was not the safest place for him to be. After all, she had found him dying on the road leading into the town. Someone had wanted him dead. Perhaps whoever that was was still alive? The woods suddenly seemed full of watchful eyes, and Shy glared through the twisting paths. Well, let that would-be assassin just try his luck again and she'd see him off to the gates of Hell herself.

Shy's fears went unproven as they rode fast through Sherwood. If anyone had been watching them they went by silently and invisibly through the trees. Once through the forest, Guy seemed to let the tension drain slowly out of his body. Shy exhaled in a rush which startled her, she had not realized just how much Guy's own unease had affected her. Hearing the sudden sigh, Guy asked Shy if she was alright. Shy smiled to herself, that was like him to ask if she was well in order to deflect away from her asking the very same of him. She told him there was nothing to worry about.

Out of Nottingham, they slowed their pace, although this was not entirely on Shy's whim. Guy insisted on not exhausting the horse, but he knew how close they were to Rotherham and that it would be quite soon Shy would arrive home. He would have slowed down to a crawl if he could, but he could not let Shy take notice.

It was the third day of travel and they had been traveling down an old, worn, muddy road for the better half of the afternoon. Shy had fallen asleep in part due to the sudden warmth of the day; the first to be had in a long while, having traveled with cloudy skies and chill winds for company. Guy had taken advantage of her position and slowed the horse to a light walk. Even in sleep, her arms were tight about him. He could feel the delicious pressure of her body as it leaned far against him. Guy could almost forget they were almost to her home, but then he saw the wooden sign up ahead around the bend in the road. It looked almost as old as the road they were traveling on. Someone had carved letters crudely into the wood, but Guy could make out the name of Rotherham and the one mile marking.

He knew he should wake Shy and let her know, but she was sleeping so peacefully and they still had nearly an hour before they would arrive. It was pointless to disturb her, so he did not. Eventually, Shy roused herself back to consciousness. "I fell asleep," she yawned in exclamation. She gave Guy a slight squeeze to reaffirm her grip and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "How long was I out?"

"Not very," Guy answered softly. He should have turned around until she woke up and then made for the proper direction, if only to buy himself one extra hour with her.

"Oh, well, in that ca-" Shy's voice fell away as she took in her surroundings. She saw a clearing ahead through the trees, "I know this place," she whispered. "Stop!" She demanded, "Let me down!"

Guy had no right to refuse her, so he slowed the horse to a halt and Shy released her hold upon Guy and dismounted, walking on legs shaky from days of travel and very little proper rest. "Yes," she placed a hand on one of the tree trunks as she tottered around like a child learning to walk, "I...I know this place." Her eyes were narrowed as she struggled to recall how and why this wood was familiar. "My father would go out...and get the firewood here...I came with him once. Then that would mean-" she looked down the road to the clearing and the meadow there.

Shy's eyes widened and her breath heaved into her lungs. For a moment Guy thought she would faint, but she recovered her wits and staggered off down the road, her legs fighting to keep up with herself. She hobbled, then jogged, then ran off as a dog breaks loose from its chains to run wild.

"Shy!" Guy cried out after her, kicking the horse to move to overtake her. Even as he gained ground on Shy he felt himself falling further and further behind. Shy had come home at last, but Guy was certain he had lost her forever.

* * *

**A/N: Yes, my first timely update in a while! Welcome to Part II of Chains, the Warwick story arc is complete and we're now back to the major plot at hand: Shy's arrival at Rotherham. But you know nothing is ever that simple. What's coming up next? Well, we'll find out what's waiting for Shy, is Guy really going to leave her? And...hasn't anyone noticed the absence of a certain band of outlaws throughout this entire fic? ;) Lots still to come. As always a big thank you to my lovely readers, you guys are the best. Hope you enjoyed this chapter. :) **


	23. A Homecoming Rearranged

XXIII

A Homecoming Rearranged

Shy came careening out of the woods with an energy that lacked balance and grace. She stumbled to a stop before the edge of the village. Her breath came in short gasps, but she ignored her near-to-bursting lungs. The quiet village seemed a picture fit for her old childish imaginings. She could see a few people out tending to the land, gathering water from the well in the middle of the village square. Two neighbors had stopped their carts to talk and their pleasant conversations carried over on the wind to Shy's ears.

She barely noticed when Guy had come to dismount and stand beside her. "This is your home?" he asked her.

"Yes," Shy said softly, staring only at the village, "this is my home." Saying it in such a breathless manner almost made it sound true.

She walked forward, trying to remember the arrangement of houses and farms. Of course there was the two crooked fences near the house by the eastern path. Shouldn't she recognize the one loose stone on the well? And hadn't that ash tree always been gnarled from past storms? She was besieged with images of what she thought she knew and what she might as well have never seen before. A few villagers stopped upon seeing the two strangers enter. Shy wanted to call out to them in greeting, but who would remember her? She would never have known them. They smiled well enough, but passed her and Guy by in the casual way of strangers. Shy tried not to feel disheartened, once she settled back into life here, perhaps they would come round and try to jog her memory. The older folks would certainly have seen her has a child? They would know her, wouldn't they?

"And where is your home?" Guy asked her, leading the horse alongside him.

"My home?" Shy felt a dull panic rise as she looked from one lane to the other with no recognition, "It is...it is..." but she did not see it. She stared hard at each house, trying to see if one thatching was just that much different to remind her, if one wooden door was her door. Guy placed a hand upon her shoulder, sensing her mounting distress.

"You have not been here in many years," Guy told her, "It will take time before you can remember things properly."

He made it sound so simple, as if there was no shame in not remembering where one had come from, where one had been born. Still, he was right. She was expecting too much from herself. She exhaled slowly and tried to let the panic wash away. Then she saw it. Near the edge of the village, towards the road leading north. The old grain mill was slanted on its foundations as if it was blowing in the breeze. "There!" she said, pointing down the road so that Guy might see. She nearly ran off again, but she checked herself in time. That was no way to make a new first impression on her father after all this time. What would he think if he was to behold a wild, and breathless girl at his doorstep? No, he would have a woman grown come back to him. She smoothed down her dress and walked at pace with Guy until they reached the mill, and the wooden posts marking the boundary of the little house.

Guy tied up the horse to one of the posts. "Shall I come in with you?"

"No," Shy shook her head, "I..I want to see him first. I should...we will need to talk, to..."

Guy caught her arm and steadied her. Shy apologized, "This does not seem real," she laughed in one outburst of breath, "I am sorry, I am myself, but only..."

"You do not have to explain," Guy said, he kissed her briefly, "Go. I'll wait here."

She smiled her gratitude and clutched his hand in hers tightly before leaving him at the posts. She walked with leaden limbs to the old door. What was she to say to the man who had sold her into misery so long ago? She had never blamed him. They had both been starving, and her father had thought that service and bondage would at least be better than dying of hunger. How could she be angry with him for wanting to save the life of his little girl? How could he have known. She resolved never to tell him of the horrors put upon her. It might break his heart, and he would be an old man now. He deserved to have the joy of his family returned to him, not hear of the woes of a life now over and done with forever.

Shy felt considerably more at ease with this decision. With a shaky hand she knocked upon the door. She stood awkwardly as a guest before her own home, waiting to admitted. Her heart pounded within her chest as she heard a shuffling step come nearer. She could feel the breath dash away from her lungs. Her strength was leaving her. A lock shifted behind the door. Oh Lord, she was going to fall and sob like a babe. The door opened, but it was not the face of an old man which greeted Shy, it was that of a young and comely woman. "Oh?" the woman looked nearly frightened at the sight of the teary eyed stranger at her door.

"Wh-wh-who are you?" Shy could only whisper.

"That seems more like a question I should be asking ya, eh?" The young woman said.

"My...my name is Shy-"

She could get no further. The woman uttered a prayer and crossed herself before reaching out a helping hand to bring Shy inside. "Bless me, ya had best come in, dear. By God, Shy...Shy."

Shy could hear the woman repeat her name from time to time along with a prayer, but it sounded fuzzy as blood pounded in her ears. She was grateful for the support of the woman, for she was certain she was going to collapse. She was given a chair and found herself seated in a simple dirt-floor kitchen. "Ya make yourself comfortable," the woman said, "an' I'll go fetch Alec. Won't be but a moment."

Shy hardly noticed when the woman left out a back way towards the path, which Shy suddenly remembered led to the mill. Shy slumped in her seat, trying to right herself and get over her initial shock. She was probably fetching her father. Perhaps he had managed to take on the girl as help as he got on in years? Shy placed a hand over her heart, feeling it slow. She wished she had not told Guy to wait outside. She needed him to calm her and assure her as her own thoughts were running away with her. She could have bolted from the room and ran to him, but the cowardly idea was thrown away from her mind. She sat up straighter in the chair and waited for the woman to return with her father.

The woman did return, but it was not with a man who could have even resembled her father. This Alec was no older than herself. He was a tall brown-haired man, a bit scruffy from tending to the mill, but he had a boyish face which seemed better suited with a smile, and not the disconcerting frown he now had. "Hallo, Shy," he said in a voice cheery by nature. He took a seat opposite her at the little table. He dabbed at his forehead with his kerchief and tucked the cloth back up his sleeve. "You wouldn't know me, but I've heard lots about you. My name is Alec, and this is my wife, Cori. I was apprenticed to your father when I was a lad."

Shy nodded, that made perfect sense and she felt a deep relief. "I am pleased to meet you both, more than you could possibly know. I have come a long way home."

"Don't doubt it," Alec said, "Your father said ya was always a wild 'un. That ya used t' help him in the mill at times, almost as good as any man, he always said."

"I was?" Shy could not remember this. She struggled to, it must be true, but she could find no memory, not even a spark. "Where...where is my father? Has he gone to town? Oh, is it market day?" She tried not to shudder at the mention of town, where Lord Foster was right now, only a few miles down the stretch of dirt road.

"Shy, I...I am not sure how t' go about telling ya such a piece o' news," Alec scratched the back of his head, stretching out his limbs. A deep sorrow passed over his eyes, "Ol' Thomas...yer father...he passed on. Near a year ago now."

Shy was certain she had not heard him correctly. "I don't understand."

"My dear, ya must be tired. Will ya not rest for a bit an'..." Cori's kindness went unnoticed as Shy waved her away.

"Do you know how long I have traveled?" Shy said in a whisper, "I have waited years. I have planned this day. I have planned this for nearly twenty years! I must see him. Do you hear me? Do you understand me? I must see my father!"

"He...he spoke of you at the last," Alec said, wincing at Shy's harsh voice, but feeling her sorrow as keenly as his own, "He asked for your forgiveness in what he did t' ya."

"Well, he shall not have it now. Now that he has left me again!"

"He was much like a father t' me an' Cori, we told him if ya was ever t' find a way back ye would have a place here."

"He was not your father, though, was he? He was mine!" Shy snapped, a madness in her eyes, the wild fiend raced through her blood making her snap like a cat and spit like a cobra. It was only the hurt look on the faces of the two innocents which brought her back to herself. The mad light dimmed in her eyes. "No..." she said, her head drooping, "No, I am sorry, that is not fair...that is not fair." She covered her face with her hand out of shame.

Cori took her hand and patted it gently, seemingly unafraid of the devil she had seen rise in the woman, "We buried him out by the ol' ash tree. Said it was the one ya used to want t' climb so much. See?" she handed Shy a dirty handkerchief, but Shy could have wept at the small gesture of compassion, a gesture she found herself undeserving of, "he did not forget ya. I think he truly hated having t' give ya up."

"I know he did," Shy found herself saying, "I never doubted it. I...I should apologize for my behavior...I..."

Alec waved her apologies away, "Did ya expect we'd think it an easy thing t' learn of? Nah, ya go ahead an' have your scream an' cry out. Ya owe us nothing."

Shy rose to her feet, "I am going to see my father," she said.

"Ya do that, dear," Cori nodded, "An' ya come on back when ye are through t' rest. At least for the night, hm?"

Shy could not help but agree. The woman was so kind, with a face like a young child, rosy and dimpled. She might have embraced her as a sister once, and Alec as a brother if she had known them. She staggered out of the house, feeling her head spin with the weight of the grief which had only just begun to fully envelop her.

"What did he say?" Guy asked her. She had forgotten he would be waiting for her, anxious, eager to go and see her father, perhaps to make a good impression. "Shy?" his eager expression vanished as he noticed her grief-stricken face. "What is it? What happened?"

"Do not touch me," she said pushing his arms away. "I am going to see my father," she laughed chokingly, "If you want to see him too you had best follow me."

So Guy did follow Shy down the road to where the ash tree stood crookedly. Neither of them had noticed the wooden cross sticking up in the ground where the base of the trunk touched the earth. Guy took careful notice now and felt his stomach twist at the sight and how Shy knelt before it, like a girl at prayer. Fear suddenly overcame him and he backed away. He had never seen Shy so helpless before. For all of her nightmares and terrors, she had still raged and fought like a warrior against her past. Now, she seemed to give up and give in as she crumpled to the ground. He heard her cries come, terrible sobs which scratched at the throat and seemed to come from deep within her very being. It frightened him, for he knew what grief produced that cry. A grief he would never dare to wish on his worst enemy—and to see Shy cry so!

Guy willed himself to walk towards her. She did not notice him at all. He stood awkwardly back, his eyes trying not to look at her shaking form. He knelt slowly and reached out a hand to place upon her shoulder. At his touch she jumped, turning to face him. She looked away from him for a moment, ashamed that he should see her like this. Guy was reminded of how Marian had looked when her father had died. How wild she had grown, as wild and disheveled as Shy now. Her grief had pulled at him too. He had wanted to say so many things to her then. That he knew himself in love with her, that he knew what it meant to lose a father. He had wanted to tell her how lost he had been the day his parents had died. How he knew how isolating the world became when one was an orphan. Most importantly he had wanted to take Marian into his arms and tell her she would never have to know what that loneliness felt like because she would have him, because he realized just how much he had come to love her. Of course, he had botched it all. He had lost himself somewhere and had fallen over his words like the clumsy fool he was. Now, what to say to Shy, when the exact same words were just at his lips?

Shy curled herself about Guy, clutching him tightly to her and burying her face against his chest. Guy stared in shock at her actions. He felt her shake and heard her begin to sob again. He could feel the wetness of her tears against his neck. He held her, thinking of all the things he wanted to tell her. Eventually, his words failed him. Perhaps it was best merely to be silent in times like these.

* * *

Guy and Shy remained before the ash tree for several hours. When Shy had exhausted herself with crying, she lay slumped over against Guy, incapable of moving. She was grateful for Guy's silence, more than she could ever say. He was still holding her, and absentmindedly stroking her hair. She found the way his fingers combed through her hair all the way down to the ends to be soothing. "He wanted to be buried here because I loved this tree. I used to climb it every day." Her voice sounded foreign in her ears, cracked like a piece of rock struck by the workman's hammer. It split upon the ear and crumbled to gravel. "I don't remember climbing this tree, or loving it. I don't remember it at all. That is a terrible thing, I think."

"You were a child," Guy said, his voice sounded as exhausted as Shy's own. He sighed, shifting his position, but still maintaining a hold about Shy. "You can't remember everything."

His logic was so simple. Shy's lip twitched into something of a brief smile. Everything was so complex with him and yet his world might as well have been black and white. You were either loyal or a traitor, a friend or an enemy. And when it came to her, suddenly nightmares were curable and the past could be forgotten, even if he believed his own nightmares and past would damn him forever. She gave him a tired kiss and he came away with a smirk, which Shy knew to be the one he wore when he was particular pleased with himself for having said the right thing. She knew him so well, and she had to admit that he knew her completely. Her soul was easier with him, and whenever he held her it was like coming home from a long journey. _Look here, __Father,_ she mentally spoke to the grave_, this is Sir Guy of Gisborne, he has kept me safe and brought me home. Did I not do well in finding him?_ But the words sounded silly in her own head. She fought down another wave of tears. She wished her father could have met Guy, and seen her happy and content. He had thought her worse off then? He had missed her after all as she had missed him? Well, all things were forgiven now. She only longed to tell him so herself.

"We should go back to the mill," Shy resolved as she stood up on shaky legs, "My father's old apprentice and his wife have given us permission to stay the night."

Guy helped Shy up, but let her start back ahead of him. He watched her walk down the road, lethargy evident in every step, but she did not look back. Guy turned to glance at the wooden cross. He sighed, feeling as if someone was watching him. "Sir, you do not know me, but I am a friend of your daughter's. Without her I do not think I would be alive. You need never fear for her. I swear while I live I will see her content and kept safe for the rest of her life." Guy whispered these words in a rush and once he had finished he stood back, as if to await some signal that would prove that his words were acceptable. No such signal came, but when the winds picked up Guy decided it was best not to keep Shy or their hosts for the night waiting for much longer.

When he came inside he found Shy seated at the small table, a plate of food before her which she was pushing about on her plate. "You must eat, Shy," Guy said as he sat down as well.

"It is what I was jus' telling her, sir," Cori said with a nod to Guy. "My name is Cori, sir, you be friends with Shy, here?"

Guy nodded and Cori seemed pleased, "Ya hear that?" she winked at Shy, "ya got friends a plenty."

Shy turned her head up at Guy with a look of adoration that stopped his breath for a moment. This almost pleasant conversation was interrupted when Alec came into the room. He stopped cold at the sight of Guy. "You," he pointed an accusing finger at him. "I know who you are. I saw you when I went t' see my brother in Nottingham. I'll not have ya here, Guy o' Gisborne!"

"Alec!" Cori shouted.

"No," Guy interrupted, "It is alright. I will go." He could only imagine what Alec must have seen of him, or what his brother had told him. Frankly, he could not will himself to care overmuch, but he did care about how Shy was treated whilst with these people. He would not cause trouble. He could find shelter outside just as easily.

"I will go as well," Shy said, rising to her feet, glaring at Alec.

"It's no offense t' ya, Shy," Alec said.

"It is an offense to me. Guy is my friend, a very dear friend. He is the reason I have been able to come home. If you must exile him from your home then you exile me as well."

Alec was stunned at the bold reply. He sighed, shoving his hands into his pockets, "I'll not have ya turned out as well. He can stay the night, only the night, mind, then he goes."

"Thank you," Shy said.

"I'm doing it as a favor t' your father. He'd not want me mistreating ya or yer...friends."

Guy could have kissed Shy for that display. It was the first show of spirit in her since she had heard the news about her father. Now, with her temper roused she finally managed to summon the energy to consume a little of the food before her. She had not asked to hear why Alec had taken a hatred towards him, she did not care at all to hear of the misdeeds of his past. Of course she was smart enough to assume the worst, but she still defended him. Oh, he loved her; he loved her. For the rest of that evening Guy remained silent, thinking that if he spoke he'd reveal himself for the stricken fool he had become.

With the humble supper over and done with, Shy and Guy were taken to the mill work room, where two pallets had been set up for their temporary stay. Cori smiled at Shy before she left, "It's only for tonight. If ya stay with us we got plenty o' room and ya know this mill, an extra pair o' hands wouldn't go amiss."

"Thank you, Cori, your kindness is...I cannot..."

"There, there," she said, "just ya get some rest an' we can speak o' it in the morning. Good night."

Shy sat upon the pallet made up for her and drew her knees up to her chest. "They are good people, I can see why my father took them in," her voice faltered for a moment. "I can see myself here, with them, such a peaceful life they must have."

"Can you really think of spending the rest of your life here?" Guy asked.

"Of course. I have thought of nothing else for years!" Shy could have laughed at such a ridiculous question. "This is what I have been planning for. This is my life!"

"But surely...plans can change?"

"I think the plan has changed quite enough," Shy said quietly.

He had to tell her now. No more excuses, no more waiting. "Shy, before we left Warwick, Lord Waleran had something to offer me," he willed himself not to look away from her as he spoke, "he offered me land, Shy. Do you know what that would mean for me? An estate? A position and title?"

"Did you accept?" She was not passing judgement. She sat impassively as she listened to him, her eyes a dull, washed-out gray.

Guy nodded, "I had to accept. It is not in me, Shy, to settle for less. You know me to be a man of ambition. Yet, I had to keep my promise to you. I had to see you safely home. I thought once you were with your father you would be content to stay in your village."

"But you would not be," Shy whispered.

"How can I be? I would make a very poor peasant, a miller even less so."

"You are going to leave me," she stated this as a wonder, as a thought she had not dared to ever consider, even though now as he spoke of his estates waiting for him at Warwick and his ambition to achieve more for himself in life, she thought nothing could have been more natural.

"And how," Guy said, taking Shy's hands in his, "shall I do that, Shy?"

She pulled her hands out of his, stirred at the look in his dark eyes. "You will manage. You will head out for Warwick and there will be all of your games of politics and power waiting for you to distract you."

"I will manage it far better if you were to come with me," Guy said, his heart beating fast, "The estates are a fair distance from the town and the castle. They are open and wooded, Shy, you would be free as you are here. I thought that I could leave you here once, but that was while I thought your father still living," he saw her flinch, but he took that to be only the freshness of the grief, not his words. "I could give you a proper home. You would want for nothing, Shy."

"Is...is this some last act of misplaced pity, Guy?" She could hardly believe him.

"Oh, Shy, you know me well enough to know I am incapable of pity. I offer this out of love."

"Love?" Shy whispered back to him, eyes wide, "It...it is a strange sense of love indeed, to offer up the chance of being removed from one's home!"

"It is not like that, Shy."

"Oh?" Her cheeks reddened, "Then what is it then? Why is it that I must leave all that is familiar to go with you? Why, if you love me so, can't you stay with me? Must I conform to your world and leave mine behind?"

"You can not even remember your so-called home!" Guy shouted in anger to draw the barb of her words out of his skin.

"It was taken from me!" Shy looked like fury incarnate even while seated, "Will you take it from me again?"

"I'm not trying to take anything from you, only offer! It is not some foreign land, it is a place you know with people that respect you and love you for who you are, that are not content to take you in out of the very pity you say you despise!"

"You mean to ensnare me? To bind me to you!" Shy spat.

Guy was bewildered at this exclamation, "I only mean to keep you safe, to love you if you'll let me."

"I never asked for you to love me!" Shy shouted, but there was a confused cry in her voice. She saw all at once how her hateful words cut Guy down. The fight seemed to go out of him at once as he took her to mean she did not return his love. He looked smaller now, perhaps that was merely the darkness of the mill. Shy felt as if she had wounded him far deeper than a sword ever did. She did not know what she had meant by those words. She had never considered love before. Not for him, but now she was so far gone in her outrage at his pestering of her at such a time when her heart was too preoccupied with grief that she could hardly consider his proposal.

"Then...then you mean to stay?" His voice was broken, and he struggled to keep it even.

Shy felt tears prick at her eyes, and she was glad of the darkness. "This is my home," but it was far from true and it felt far from convincing.

"I will leave in the morning."

"Then go."

"Shy..." He was pleading with her. Giving her a chance to reconsider, or to at least let him be assured that she loved him. He would have even accepted the fact that she could not leave, but only let her love him!

"You had best go to sleep, Guy," Shy turned her back on him, "you will want to get an early start in the morning."

* * *

**A/N: This is what happens when I catch a cold and can only lie around all day. What's that you say about rest? Well, that's nigh impossible when one's writing muse is a very tall, leather-clad bully who keeps nudging me to write every ten seconds. Hopefully the swift update will appease the demon. XD**


	24. A Change for the Better

XXIV

A Change For The Better

_You ungrateful, little bitch!_

The words had been in Shy's head upon falling asleep and her own insult to herself still rang out like a sword being drawn from its sheath once she opened her eyes. There was one high window in the mill, and the sun light became infused with the flour dust in the air, so that it appeared as golden smoke drifting down from the rafters. Shy blinked and rolled over, not having felt better for the night's rest. She ached all over and her heart was so heavy within her chest she could not even will herself to sit up from the straw pallet. She could not identify what hurt worse, the discovery of her father's death, or the knowledge that Guy was soon to leave her. Each felt worthy of their own mourning. Shy curled up into a ball, but comfort was not to be had.

Ungrateful bitch, indeed, Shy continued to think. She replayed her conversation with Guy over and over again. How could she have spoken to him in such a manner? He had done nothing to deserve such spite from her. He had been patient and kind to her since she had returned to Rotherham. Had he not saved her from the slavers? Had he not put up with her nightmares and tantrums all this time? Yes, but he had such poor timing in proposing such a scheme to her. Did he ever consider once how she must have been feeling? A better notion entered her head: when was the last time she had given his feelings any consideration higher than her own?

Perhaps Guy had crossed the line, but she had as well—despising his words when all he had been trying to tell her was that he loved her. Above even his hopeful offers of a home and a life with him, he had only been trying to tell her what she might have guessed at if she had not been so consumed with grief. How he had shrank from her when she had coldly thrown his words back at him. How dead he had sounded. It had been unbearable even then, but now, magnified by her own memory, it was doubly so.

"Guy," she rolled over and propped herself up on her elbow, facing in the direction of Guy's pallet beside her.

The single blanket was tucked in tight and while she could not see him, she could make out a form against the straw mattress. "Oh, Guy," she sighed, "I'm so sorry." But what could she say to him to make things right? "I spoke without thinking," she said, "will you give me proper time to consider your offer fully? Surely it is not too late to mend things between us?"

There wasn't even the slightest bit of movement from the pallet, "Guy?" Shy felt her heart falling away from her at this lack of response. Could he not even look at her, anymore? She reached out in an attempt to place a hand upon his back. But what she felt could hardly be described as human. In shock she withdrew her hand, before pulling at the blanket. Shy gasped, it was only a pillow shoved up under the blanket. Guy had gone.

At once, Shy was on her feet and racing up the stairs out of the mill. Gone! How could Guy have left? She burned with anger. He stole away like a thief in the night without even a word of farewell. How dare he! No, this was her fault. This was all her fault. Maybe he had not left yet, perhaps he was still preparing to leave. If she hurried she would just catch him before he untied the horse and made his way from the village. He could not have left that long ago, it was only just morning.

She pushed open the mill door and ran out around the house towards the posts where she knew the horse would still be waiting. The grass squelched beneath her shoes, the dew making the ground slick. Shy nearly tripped over herself twice in her haste, but by the time she arrived around to the posts there was no sign that there had ever been a horse tied and waiting. Shy refused to believe her own eyes. She wandered about, examining the wooden posts, staring off down the path, squinting her eyes in order to catch a glimpse of some retreating figure in the distance. Nothing. Only the air, only the morning sun climbing higher, only a single note of a bird's song repeating with greater impatience each time its call was not returned.

Guy was gone, he was really gone. Based on her behavior the previous night, he had had every right to leave her. Shy tried to blame him, she tried to summon her infamous temper, but there was nothing left to burn and there was no one to rage at. Could he not have at least said good-bye? Could she not have at least seen him on his way? Was one night, and a bundle of hastily spoken words now to be all she would have to remember him?

Shy walked quietly back into the house, her head lowered and her eyes trained to the floor. She was not aware of Cori's presence until the woman spoke, "Oh, awake now, I see."

"Did you see Guy leave? Were you here?" Shy asked, surprised at how calm and even her voice sounded. She was annoyed with herself. She wanted it to sound wild and broken, something with which to equal the pain she felt.

"Yes," Cori said with such an expression that Shy would have slapped her across the face if she was not already beholden to her. "He left quite early. Said you an' he had talked it over an' since he was confident ya would be safe here with us, it was time for him to move on."

"How did he seem?"

"Oh," Cori tapped her lips with her finger as she tried to recall, "He was very soft-spoken, but I should imagine 'twas only the earliness of the hour made him so very gray."

She could see him somberly telling Cori what message to give for her once she woke. Did he even once think of the panic he would send her in? He might as well have left her in the forest on her own. Quite safe, he had thought her! How could he think she would ever know safety or peace of mind again as long as she couldn't be sure if he was well and safe himself?

"Dear, I almost forgot!" Cori squeaked, "Guy left this for you," she gestured to the table.

There was a sheathed dagger lying atop a piece of sack-cloth that had been scribbled upon with what could only be charcoal. The words were nearly faded as the cloth made in impossible to be written upon clearly, but Shy could make out the words. She moved aside the dagger and read the note:

_Shy, _

_ This dagger used to belong to my father, it has kept me safe for many years. I have given it to you in the hope that it will protect you where I can not. I pray you find the home you've been looking for. _

The charcoal stained her fingers, but she rubbed the grainy blackness into her skin. She clutched the dagger and unsheathed it, holding the blade up the light. It was a small weapon, compact for easy use. The blade was curved and well polished so that it seemed to wink at her in the sunlight. Shy remembered this dagger, Guy had used it many times while he tutored her in the use of such a weapon. The sheath itself was unusual. There was a string which was meant to be tied about the wrist almost in the fashion of a bracelet. The sheath would be pressed against the underarm so that with a flick, one could quickly unsheathe the dagger and strike with it.

With clumsy fingers, Shy tied the string about her arm, it fit to her naturally and the light weight of the blade under her sleeve felt almost like the gentle pressure of a hand against her arm. Shy crushed the note in her fist. When had it become so stifling in this house? She tried to breathe, but the air refused to fill her lungs. She turned and ran from the house as if to escape some unseen terror. Cori cried out after her, but she did not give chase as Shy bolted from the house and down the road. No one else was outside in the square and Shy could have fancied herself the only one alive in the village. She laughed, a sick, high-pitched, nervous sound. The ash tree rose up in her line of sight and she went over to it as if pulled on invisible strings to the resting place of her father. There she managed to find some semblance of sanity again. She stood over the grave, sucking the cool air into her burning and tightened throat.

"Look at this," she flung the crumpled note down. "Could you not just fall for laughing? Does he think some trinket of his father's will somehow ease the absence of you? What a fool he is, Father, what a pathetic fool."

Silence took hold of Shy again. She sighed and sat down before the trunk of the tree next to the cross. She stretched out her legs and plucked at a few blades of grass. "He wanted me to leave. I don't think he expected me to refuse, how could he be so unfeeling as that? This is where I belong, this is my home," the words fell like stones down a well, Shy groaned, "But how I shall miss him." Even saying that did express the void growing within her.

Shy lay out by the ash tree for a while longer, resisting the urge to weep openly. As the morning wore on, the village sprang back into life. Shy watched the people go about their day. No one bothered with her, she looked just as any other young woman enjoying a few moments to herself.

A figure down the road appeared at mid-morning. Shy sprang to her feet to get a better look. It could not possibly be Guy come back for her? The idea was absurd, but she was not beyond such absurd thoughts, not with her heart half broken. Her hope was quickly dashed as she realized the horseman had a few companions with him. Dejection turned to terror as she recognized Lord Foster's livery on the men. Those were his guards, Lord Foster was riding through the village.

Shy did not stop to wait to see her old master again. She ran back to the mill to find safety in the house. She ran ahead of the guards, who were still not at the point of spotting her. But Shy thought that they would find her. They would catch her out and drag her back to drawbridge would be raised and the gates shut and she would be trapped again, suffocated in that maze of a town. Then she'd be brought to the manor-house, and just like she had after she had tried to escape, she'd be flogged and tied up to the post by the stables. Then the guards would come. They'd tease her and pull at her clothes and place their hands over her, feel her with their coarse fingers. Then when they had had their fun Foster would come for her. And she'd pray for death, she'd recite the old blasphemous prayer to the Devil himself, because the fires of Hell would be a welcome relief from this torture of life.

"What's all this, then?" Alec asked, catching Shy as she dashed inside and shut the door.

"Hide me," Shy whispered, her eyes wide, her limbs trembling.

"Hide ya? From what? You're perfectly safe."

"Lord Foster."

"Hide ya from Lord Foster? What a thing t' say. He's the kindest man I know, we was a bit behind on our taxes this past year an' he gave us time enough to pay in full. No punishment. Many's the master who'd throw us in jail for such a thing."

"He's a devil!" Shy spat, "You do not know. No one knows. He is as cunning as a demon, he was the man who kept me all these years. You could not understand what horrors I have seen!"

"I think ya are tired and confused with grief," Alec said, patting her on the back, "Ya go an' rest. Talking of Lord Foster being a devil, indeed!"

Shy retreated further into the house, keeping away from the windows and jumping at the slightest of sounds. Eventually, Alec returned to tell her that the guards, along with Foster had left the village, that they had only passed through. He spoke aloud of some occasion or other that had Foster on full parade with all his men. Must be quite a thing, he said.

Still shivering like mad, Shy managed to at least retain some mental calm. Lord Foster was gone and with it the danger of him finding her again. She sat at table with Alec and Cori as they ate a meager meal. Shy picked at the crust of bread lethargically. At last she set it down, "I can't stay,"

"What?" Cori asked. "How d'you mean?"

"I mean, I can not stay. I mean that I need to leave."

"And...where do you intend on goin'?"

"Home," Shy smiled, realizing she must sound like some demented madwoman, but that only made her want to laugh the harder.

"But, ya are home!" Cori exclaimed.

Shy shook her head, "I could not explain it to you if I tried." She rose from the table, "You are good people. I think at one time, in another lifetime we might all have made a decent family. I am grateful for the hospitality you've shown me, truly, but I can not stay!" She headed for the door, with Alec and Cori on her heels.

"Ya really mean it," Alec said, "Ya mean t' go right now, but ya won't get far."

"Oh, no fear of how far I get today," Shy said, "Warwick is only a three day journey, it won't disappear!"

She felt giddy as she stared off down the path. "Well," Cori said, "I hope ya find what you're looking for," Shy grinned, glad at least that the kind woman had not found her completely out of her wits. She waved them a farewell and set off down the road. As the village disappeared behind her, Shy felt the dust shake off from her past. Let it all be buried by the ash tree. Ahead of her was Guy, ahead was home!

* * *

Shy had still been fast asleep when Guy had woken that morning, although it was hardly morning. Light was barely trickling down from the window. Dawn could have only just broken moments before. He had thought this a stroke of luck. He had turned to see Shy lying on her side. She looked so content in repose that Guy felt as if he would be sick. He wanted her to be as tortured as he was, as restless and incapable of peace. Instead, Guy had watched as she merely sighed in her sleep and brought her knees up to her chest.

She did not love him. That was the impossible thought pounding in Guy's mind. How could that be? Had she not shown him that she cared for him? Adored him above anyone? He tried not to think about past nights spent together. Would Shy have lain with him if she did not love him? And yet, she had proven she did not love him as he did her. She was willing to let him go, to spend the rest of her life apart from him. Could he have misjudged her that badly? It would not be the first time he had let his heart take hold of his reason.

If he was to leave her, let him leave her like this, at peace with her decision. He had been certain if he had stayed until she woke to say good-bye he would disgrace himself with another plea for her to come with him. He had already displayed how truly pathetic he was last night. My God, he had practically begged for her heart. Was it any wonder she had been so cold to him after showing her such utter weakness?

Guy had donned his coat and cloak and reached for his sword belt. He had dressed swiftly and silently. Before he left the mill for good he went back to Shy. He knew he should have left then, that the more he lingered the more he risked waking her and spoiling his own flight. But this would be the last time he would ever see her. He had knelt beside her, a hand upon her cheek. She did not stir in the slightest and for that Guy was grateful, for now that she knew his true heart she might have found such a gesture unwanted. He bent over and kissed her forehead. At that she had moved, a sleepy smile crossed her face and she turned, as if to reach out for his form beside her and bring him to her. Guy backed away and watched as Shy grappled with the air for a moment, her face turning in a disturbed frown, before she ceased her movements and lay with her arms half outstretched.

He had left in a hurry, not trusting himself to look back. His departure felt like a blur of images and sounds which meant nothing to him. Cori had already been up along with her husband, who did not seem sorry to see him go. He trusted Cori enough to leave her with a message for Shy. Fortune had seen fit to bless him with the means to leave her a tangible farewell. The bit of charcoal had nearly fallen from his hands as he wrote out his message. He placed the dagger beside the cloth, knowing that such a token would not be taken for granted, no matter Shy's feelings towards him. He half ran from the home to where the horse was tied up by the post. And then he was riding away.

And he had been riding hard for most of the day, replaying his departure over and over again. As the sun climbed higher and higher into the sky he could not help, but imagine Shy waking only to find him gone. What would she think? Would she even be relieved not to have to face him again? It was best not think of her at all. His thoughts were uncontrollable. First he would picture her happy to be back among her own people, then he could not help but picture scenarios in which Lord Foster and his men would come among the villagers. He couldn't help, but think of the terror which Shy would feel. Would Foster be so bold as to take back his old slave even though he had given her up to the markets long before? Oh God, what was he doing riding away? No one would be there to speak up for Shy, she'd be taken again! How could she ever be safe there? Was this selfless fear for her, or was it merely a selfish excuse to force her to come back with him?

He rode until the sky grew dark and he was forced to stop for the night. There were no inns on the road he had taken, but he was too close to Nottingham now for him to take the main roads. On the outskirts of Sherwood Forest he set up camp. Now this was all very familiar. On the run again. He half expected Robin to come strolling out between the trees with that insufferable grin stamped on his face, asking, in that cocky voice of his, what he thought he was doing in _his_ forest. There would have been a fight, in which they both would have come away bloody messes. Guy wouldn't have minded that at all, he'd even take the bruises and the soreness the day later. The woods were lonely and silent that night, as if the very trees were still pining for their outlaw lord and master. Now, he was in danger of getting sentimental and that would never do. He focused his energies on gathering wood for a small fire, and getting himself warm and rested.

With the combination of exhaustion and the fire, Guy fell into a sound sleep. He was woken by a sudden start of a dream half finished and the crack of an ember on the fire. "Shy?" he called for her instinctively, having grown use to her presence at his side in the night. The lack of an answer and the sudden realization that she was never going to answer to such a call again slammed into him and all at once the events of the day fell upon him. Shy was gone. The simplicity of this fact was torturous. He found himself weeping for her, for the childish fact that he was alone, and that no matter how many time he found himself alone each disappointment was equally painful. There was a safety in the relative darkness of the dying fire and the lonely wood. There was no fear of being stumbled upon and therefore no reason to stop his tears. He cried silently until the energy was sapped from him. He leaned back against the trunk of a tree, attempting to find sleep again so that he might at least be alert enough to resume his travels in the morning.

The snap of a few twigs caused alarm. He held his breath, his eyes scanning the dark forest, but he could see nothing, the fire did not cast a wide enough glow to allow him to spot a fleeing shadow in the dark of the night. The shuffle of leaves gave him the confidence that someone was stalking about at night, putting aside the humiliating idea that someone might have heard his sobs, Guy drew his sword and rose to his feet, "Who's there?" he barked, roughening his voice, "I heard you. Come out and show yourself."

He heard movements again and Guy felt a chill down his spine. The noise was coming from behind him. He whirled about, bringing the blade to bear against the outline of a shadow he could now partially see. The shadow gave a gasp and a cry of surprise at the feeling of cold steel against its neck. "It's me! Guy, it's me!"

The sword fell from Guy's hands, half from sheer shock and half from the fact that he had very nearly killed Shy. Guy was too numb to respond to her, but he could feel Shy against him, her hands taking his own. "Oh God, Oh God, I did not think I would find you so soon. I thought I'd find you in Warwick, but I am glad to find you now." She tried to embrace him, but Guy held her off.

"What are you doing here?" he managed to whisper, "How...I-"

"I left Rotherham," Shy said in a rush, "I realized..." her voice trembled, "I realized that the home I had there had been dead a long time, if it ever truly existed at all."

"You...left?"

"With some great encouragement from you, I might add," Shy shoved Guy, "You left me!" and then the anger and the fear was back, "With barely a word, you just disappeared. Did you not think I wouldn't be frightened half to death? When I woke and saw you had gone, I..." Her voice was breaking too much for her to continue speaking.

"I...I thought to spare you," Guy found himself defending his actions half-heartedly.

"Well, the next time you think to spare me, don't."

Guy nodded in the darkness, still feeling vaguely numb to this turn of events. Then, the reality began to set in, "What...what were you thinking, traveling at night! You could have been killed, anyone could have caught you on the road!"

"Why do you think I took to staying off the main paths? Much like I knew you would, too." Shy was grinning at his concern, "So, now we might travel back together?"

"You mean to come with me back to Warwick?"

"Why stop at Warwick? I hear France is wonderful this time of year," Shy began to laugh, "Yes, of course I mean to come with you to Warwick. Did you think I took the trouble in trying to catch up to you merely for the exercise?"

Her lips were claimed in a sudden and violent kiss. "I thought I lost you," was all Guy managed to say.

"Oh Guy," the humor disappeared from Shy's voice. She brought a hand up to his face, "I am so sorry for what I said last night, I was not myself. I would never try to hurt you in such a way. Please forgive me."

"No, no, it is best to forget it entirely. Leave it all in the past."

"I can agree with that."

Guy brought Shy down to sit beside him under the tree. He removed his cloak and draped it over Shy's shoulders like a blanket. Shy gave a gasp and began to fidget with something upon her dress, "I suppose I should give this back to you," she handed Guy his dagger.

"Keep it," Guy said, closing her fingers back around the sheathed weapon, "It is my gift to you."

Shy did not argue. She rested against Guy, delighting in the feel of him again. He was holding her quite close and she could feel his happiness radiating from him. Only Shy knew how drastic a change this was for him. Mentally, she made a promise to herself that she would never tell Guy that she had seen and heard him weeping alone in the darkness. The memory of it would be enough to bring tears to her own eyes. She kissed him sweetly, and he returned it with equal fervor, squeezing her tight to assure himself he was not still dreaming.

"Guy?" Shy whispered in his ear.

"Yes?"

"I love you."

Guy laughed soft and low. It echoed and reverberated in Shy's ears like the greatest howl of triumph and joy.

* * *

**A/N: No, however, lovely you find the end of this chapter to be, this is not the end. Much more to come soon! Stop me if I'm going to fast for ya! XD**


	25. The Prodigal Brother

XXV

The Prodigal Brother

Somehow the single kiss had multiplied. Shy had woken first, the sun already bright and high in the sky, it was hardly morning anymore. The leather cloak which had served as a blanket, fell from about her shoulders as she shifted from her slack position. She must have fallen asleep rather quickly; she had been exhausted from traveling on foot all day and through most of the night. Guy was still asleep, his head was resting against her shoulder. He had fallen asleep holding her, and his arms did make movement rather difficult. Shy had kissed his forehead once, hoping to wake him. When he did not stir, Shy found herself attempting again and again using the same method. When she pulled away she saw a smirk upon his lips and realized he had been feigning sleep. Shy gave him a jab to the chest. "Wake up, you cheat."

Guy cracked one eye open. "Good morning." He placed a kiss against her neck and shoulder. Shy laughed as he nuzzled the sensitive skin. "Good morning, my love."

The endearment took Shy by surprise, along with the bright look in Guy's blue eyes. It was as if she had woken up to a complete stranger. Or perhaps this was not the stranger, this was Guy without the mask of darkness and anger. It was hard to believe, nearly impossible, that this kind and loving man had been lurking just underneath the surface all this time.

They untangled themselves from about each other. Shy helped in cleaning up the camp and making ready to leave. "We've spent half the day asleep as it is," she said, "at this rate we'll be lucky if we make it to Warwick in three days time."

"There is no rush," Guy said, "We will not be able to go to my estates right away. Lord Waleran still has the deeds to the land. I told him I would only accept them after I saw you safely to Rotherham."

Shy grinned, "Imagine what he'll say when he sees me riding up with you?"

"I think he will be expecting it. I believe our friends knew something we did not when we left Warwick," Guy mused, "Gavin even warned me I was not to show my face there again if I did not have you married and-"

"Married?" Shy gasped.

"Yes," Guy hesitated, "Shy, did you think I meant to take you back with me as some...mistress I would set up in my home?"

"No, but...married..."

"You...you do not want to be married?" There was the cloudy sullenness come back. How quickly he could turn at the mention of one wrong word.

"It is not that," Shy said quickly, trying to think of how best to speak to him so that he would not think she was offending him, "It is only, I never thought of marriage before. To be a wife, to have...a family—how was I ever supposed to imagine such a life unless I wanted to break my own heart over the impossibility of the thing?"

Guy rose to his feet and took Shy's hands in his, "Then let me ask you to imagine it now. Will you marry me, Shy?"

"And have a life with you? A family?" Shy asked.

"Yes."

Shy kissed him and threw her arms about him by way of response. Guy was satisfied with such an acquiescence. "Now," Shy said with a laugh, her cheeks were a deep crimson and she placed a hand over them to cool herself, "make yourself useful, and help me get ready to leave."

Guy assisted her for a time before snatching up two of the, now empty, water flasks. "There's a stream that runs through here, it's not far," he said. Shy gave him leave to go, protesting that he would only continue to slow her down if he stayed.

He knew these woods almost as well as the outlaws which lived in them. Ah, but he must not forget that he was an outlaw himself while still in Nottingham. It was better to keep Shy close to the camp, anyone could get lost in Sherwood if they did not know the way. He walked for only a short distance before coming up to a quiet stream. Beside the calm water was a tree bent low beside the bank and under the dipping trunk was a small collection of stones. Only Guy recognized it as the marker for a grave. There had been another reason he had been so keen on getting to this particular spot in the forest.

"Never expected to see me again did you?" His voice was quiet and barely above that of a whisper. He smiled and placed a hand lovingly atop one of the stones, "Hello, Meg, my angel."

He sat down next to the grave marker and uncorked one of the flasks, dipping it into the water and filling it. The water was of a translucent blue and it flowed quietly down through the forest, with only the slight ripple of miniscule waves against the gravel of the bank. He always thought Meg would have liked being laid to rest here. It was a peaceful spot, and yet so full of life and a hidden wildness that was carried by the water towards the rushing river further downstream. Not that Meg had had a choice on where to be buried, Guy thought with a pained stab. He would never understand the mad bravery that could have been coursing through that young woman when she had decided to stand in the way of that soldier's pike. No, that was a falsehood, he would do the same now for Shy rather than ever see her hurt. But it could not have been the same sense of love. Meg had only known him for a few hours. That was not enough time for someone to know they loved another. These were thoughts he had spun long ago, how funny that he was still dancing in the same circles.

"I believe I found that freedom you wanted me to find," he said, capping the first flask and filling the second. "You may have been right about me," he paused, "But I'll be damned if I admit that to a living soul, and don't you dare speak of it wherever you are." It was quite easy to imagine Meg sitting beside him, just around the other side of the bent tree, her easy-going smile on her face and the knowing wink in her eye that wouldn't let him tell a single lie without feeling the shame of it. "I am betrothed, Meg," he whispered, "To a woman I—oh, I wish you might have been able to have met her." Shy and Meg were rather alike, now that he thought of it; both with the same hunger for freedom and to take charge of their own futures, but he had always admired that spirit in a woman. "For as long as I live, Meg I will never forget what you did for me. I would have died in shame, and willingly. Now, I-" but he did not now how to word his feelings, even speaking his own desires and hopes to the thin of the air felt like an overexposure. If Meg was truly watching him now then there was no reason to speak at all. She would know his thoughts and that was enough.

Guy capped the second flask with a sigh. He ran a hand through his dark hair, recollecting himself. How prophetic that he should return to the one spot where he thought all hope for any form of a redemption in him should have died. Instead it proved to have been merely a rebirth. It seemed that, contrary to all he believed, God and his angels had far from abandoned him, they had led him directly to a form of salvation, even though he still doubted he deserved it.

A shrill scream shattered the tranquility. Guy felt the air in his lungs vanish. That was Shy's scream, full of sudden terror and outrage. Guy unsheathed his sword and ran back towards the camp with demonic speed. The twin flasks of water lay upon the stream bank, flung down in Guy's haste to get to his weapon and hurry back to Shy. One had been uncapped by the impact, its flowing contents staining the soil a dark and murky black.

* * *

Shy had just finished cleaning the camp and had been tightening the saddle on the horse when the trouble had first started. An arrow had flown through the air and pinned the sleeve of her dress to the trunk of the tree. In her surprise she screamed, half thinking her whole arm had been pierced by the sharp projectile. She shut her eyes, expecting the wave of pain to arrive at any minute. Another arrow zipped through the invisible spaces between the trees to pin the side of her dress to the tree, it was followed by another, one at the left and right. She was perfectly immobile. Shy struggled against the arrows, tugging on her arm, but the arrow had cut so close to the skin and the point had neatly pinned the garment down that she could not rip it off. She hissed in pain as she accidentally nicked her wrist on the arrow's corner. Blood ran down her hand in slow drops, the warm stickiness of the blood only furthered her aggravation.

"Don't struggle, or you'll only continue to hurt yourself," a voice called out from the woods.

Shy immediately stopped moving at the very loud, very male demand. She scanned the area, but could see no one. Then, as if materializing from the foliage itself, a gang of men appeared. They were five all told, and one a women which caused Shy some amount of confusion. The one with the bow had another arrow notched to the string and was aiming it right at her. Shy pressed back against the tree, her breath coming in short gasps. At a nod from the archer two of the men began to look about the camp. When one, a large man with a formidable looking wooden staff, began to rummage through the saddle bags, Shy began to struggle again. "Get away!"

"Ah," the man with the bow waved it about, clicking his tongue like a mother hen, "Tame. Now don't worry," he said, "we won't hurt you. Just you stay there and keep that pretty mouth of yours quiet. We'll relieve you of any valuables and go in peace."

"I don't have any valuables, so you had best be on your way, thief," Shy muttered, trying to land a kick to the man with the staff. He growled at her. Shy snapped her teeth at him.

"A little spirit, eh? That's all right, I like a girl with some fight in her," he laughed and Shy felt her insides grow cold. What did he mean by that? "And don't play me for a fool. I can see by that lovely dress you have on that you're far from destitute. What's a lady like you doing traveling all alone?"

Shy bit her lip to prevent herself from crying out to Guy. If these outlaws knew she had a companion, they'd go looking for him and take him by surprise. Shy curled her hands up into fists, shaking with anger and fear at the leering stare in the archer's eyes. Her fingers touched upon the point of the dagger up the sleeve of her free arm. She brought her arm down to her side in order to curl one finger down inside her long sleeve and inch the dagger out of its sheath. It slipped out easy, and Shy stopped it with two fingers, pinching the flat of the blade between them she pulled it out further until she could grip it properly. "My affairs," she said, "are none of your business!" This last word was said with rushing exhale as she threw the dagger straight at the archer.

It was prevented from reaching its true destination by a dark-skinned man dressed in a monk's habit who was standing alongside the archer. The dagger quivered in the handle of a small, thick club. The archer did not seem the least bit shaken. Instead he laughed, "Oh very good, my lady," he gave her a smirk which Shy blanched it. It looked the mirror of Guy's, but that was impossible.

The monk pulled the dagger out of the club and examined it. "Fine, little dagger. Excellent craftsmanship."

Another one of the men peered over the monks shoulder. "Hang on, I've seen that somewhere before."

"Oh come off it, Much, you think you've seen everything somewhere before," the blonde haired woman snorted.

"No, I have!" He looked up at Shy with a derisive laugh, "You little, thief!" he cried, "Hah, where did you get this, hm?"

"It was a gift," Shy snarled.

"Gift my right eye," Much laughed, "The only way you got a hold of this was if you were mucking about in graves. Told you I knew this dagger, Tuck, it belonged to Sir-"

A fearsome roar filled the clearing as Guy charged out of the forest, sword at the ready. He placed himself between the outlaws and Shy. "_Get away from her!_" His voice grated, snapping like the yelp of a wolf warning others away from its mate.

Shy grinned at the stricken expressions of terror on the outlaws' faces. Why, they had all turned as pale as spirits and their weapons all shook in their hands. She looked at Guy, waiting to see when he would choose to send these miserable dogs running back into the woods with their tails between their legs. The bow and arrow fell to the ground. "Guy?" his voice was barely above a whisper. Beside him the monk uttered a prayer.

The red in Guy's vision faded and he lowered his sword, allowing recognition to filter through his addled mind. "Archer?"

There was a moment of silence before Archer laughed like a maniac and lunged for Guy, clapping him on the back in an embrace. Guy stood immobile. "You are supposed to be dead! No one could have survived a wound like that let alone manage to escape the collapse of the Castle! What do you have, brother, the Devil's luck?"

Similar statements of incredulity were echoed among the others. Their faces were still pale and only the one called Archer was capable of approaching Guy. The others regarded him as a living ghost and either could not touch him or would not for fear of being cursed. Guy spoke at last, trying to regain his composure after letting the fear of Shy being attacked wash away from him and then the shock of seeing his brother again. "It is a long story, and you would not believe me."

Shy cleared her throat loudly so that the others might turn their attention back to her and notice her state. Guy went at once to her and snapped the ends of the arrows off, lifting her immobile arm first and drawing the rest of the arrow through the hole until it was pulled through. He did the same with the two arrows at her side. Archer dipped his head, "Beg pardon," he said with a sheepish cough, "Introduce me to your companion here, Guy."

"This is Shy of Rotherham," Guy said, "Shy this is my brother, Archer."

"Your brother?" Shy raised an eyebrow, having already picked up on that fact after listening to the two reunite. "I might have recognized that impulse of attack first ask questions later."

"We are on our way to Warwick," Guy explained.

"Warwick?" Archer asked, taken aback, "What have you been doing since your death, brother?"

"Like I said, long story."

"Well, come back to the camp and tell us all," Archer said.

Guy looked to Shy for her approval and Shy merely shrugged, not seeing a way to refuse. They walked behind the rest of the gang, leading the horse along with them. Guy took Shy's injured hand and gently examined it. Shy batted him away with a laugh, stating it was only a small cut and nothing serious.

"So, Shy," Archer remarked as he fell back to walk alongside them, "tell me how you came to find yourself in my brother's company?" He had a roguish gleam in his eye, which startled Shy at first, until she realized she doubted the man knew of his constant flirtatious nature.

"It is rather the opposite," Shy said with a smirk of her own, "ask your brother how he fell into my company."

Archer looked over at Guy who merely took Shy by the hand, interlocking his fingers with her own and answering simply, "She saved my life."

Archer glanced from Guy to Shy and he grinned, "I see," he gave a mischievous laugh and began whistling a bawdy song as he strolled away, his arms supporting the bow at his back.

Shy laughed at his antics, "I see he got the jester blood of the family."

As if to prove Shy's point, Guy remained silent. He raised Shy's hand to his lips and gave it a light kiss. Her hand was quickly covered by his own. "You charmer," Shy snickered. Her laughter was cut short as she noticed one of the gang, the blonde-haired woman, had craned her head around was watching them with a sour face. "Oh my," Shy whispered, "I get the distinct feeling that one does not like me at all." She smiled wolfishly at the woman who blushed a crimson then looked away.

They walked until they reached a small gorge in the forest. A camp seemed to rise up out of the ground at the pull of a lever hidden between the rocks. Shy whistled, "That's rather clever. I like that." She walked inside and examined the small hearth kitchen and the rows of bunks.

"Well now," Archer announced, throwing down his bow and unslinging a quiver of arrows from off his back, "I believe a proper explanation is in order."

"Do you want to tell them, or shall I?" offered Shy.

Guy shook his head, taking it upon himself to relate the story of his apparent resurrection. He began from as much as he could remember of the aftermath of the siege of Nottingham Castle. He told the outlaws of how he met Shy and how she had managed to bring him back from the brink of death. The description of the slaver's cart was told with little detail, heads had already turned upwards at the mention of Shy's former status, it did not need to be further spoken of. After breaking free from the slaver, Guy went on to detail his involvement with Sir Gavin and Lord Waleran, the Imposter's campaign against Warwick and the subsequent position waiting for him back there. He could not be sure if he was fully believed by the outlaws once he had finished relating the recent events which had befallen him. Some even looked at Shy as if she were not truly in existence, as if they had all caught the same madness and were half expecting her to evaporate into the air; a fabricated creature created from Guy's own imaginings.

Tuck stood with his arms crossed, laughing as Guy concluded his story. "I would never have believed it if it was not staring me in the face. A miracle indeed. It seems your time spent among Robin Hood was not in vain after all, hm Guy?"

"Robin Hood?" Shy interjected, "You are Robin Hood's gang?" She was overawed for a moment when she received an answer in the affirmative.

"Aye, and I'm the new man in the hood, see?" Archer flipped up the hood of his cloak. "The people know my real name, but the title stuck. Go round through Nottingham and they call me Robin. As if he never died."

A dead silence fell over the gang. "He is dead then?" Guy asked somberly. His brother nodded quietly.

"Buried him in Locksley," Much added.

"Poor sense of justice in the world," the blonde-haired girl said with barely concealed contempt, "that he's dead and this one's still breathing."

"No justice at all," Shy interrupted any rebuttal from the gang, "Medicine has a hard time telling the difference between hero and villain."

"Shy!" Guy warned, "Don't feed into it, and Kate," he looked over at the other woman, "don't encourage her."

"If you knew anything at all about the man you've been traveling with you'd think twice before defending him so easily," Kate snapped.

Shy stared at the woman, her head tilted slightly in acceptance of the challenge. Her gray eyes clouded and only Guy knew the warning storm was beginning to brew. "I know it all. I know that to you he is a traitor and a murderer. While he has never told me of the cruelty I am sure he had inflicted upon you at one time, I have my own imagination to rely on for that. Believe me, I have seen the darkness in his soul you were so kind as to allude to. However, that does not concern me at all, does it? To me he has been a good and honorable man, and I assure you I've known blacker villains. So if you think to shame me by my association with him, you are quite mistaken."

Guy gave Shy's arm a none-too-gentle squeeze. At last, Shy conceded the battle and let her words stand in the icy silence which followed. "I'm not asking for your acceptance, or forgiveness. I never will," Guy said, "We are only passing through. When we leave you are free to consider me as I once was: dead."

"You will not stay even for a single day?" Archer asked, "At least to hear of what has happened to Nottingham since your...disappearance?"

"I have never cared for Nottingham," Guy said, "And neither did you last time I asked."

Archer shrugged, "Times change. People change," he ignored his brother's condescending laugh. "maybe it's just in my blood." He said this last on purpose to rile Guy. "At any rate things are at a crossroads. After the fall of the Castle, with no Sheriff and no lord of Locksley there was complete chaos. My gang and I took over as the unofficial law and order you might say. We continued to give out food and care for the needy while Nottingham was cleared out from under the rubble. The construction of the new Castle is still underway. You know for a time we were living in Locksley Manor. With no guards to run from anymore it seemed fitting. Anyway, word finally reached Prince John and Nottingham is to be getting a new steward until a Sheriff can be appointed. He's due to arrive any day."

"The best of luck to him. He will need it. I do not envy him," Guy said with the same disinterested shrug.

"It seems to me," Tuck said, "that we may have a new card to play in all this. With Robin Hood dead both you and Guy are the rightful heirs to the Locksley estates, and with Vaysey gone, as his former Master-At-Arms, Guy, that leaves you as the logical candidate for Sheriff of Nottinghamshire. We could take such a petition to the Prince, before a full council it would be impossible to refute."

"Don't you even think of dragging me back down to your affairs," Guy warned, "Prince John would have my head if he knew I was still alive and in Nottingham."

"Not necessarily," Tuck said, "He's tried to kill you more than once, and if he were to have proof of your still being alive after the fall of Nottingham Castle, I think the baffled Prince would be too scared to try his luck again on an immortal such as yourself, Guy."

"Why are you rallying around Gisborne?" Kate asked, "Or have you all forgotten how hard times were while he was our lord and master?"

"Yeah, Tuck," Much said, "wouldn't it make more sense to get Archer the Locksley estates and set him up as Sheriff? He could pardon all of us and...we could all go back to our lives."

"Excuse me, but do I get a say in all this?" Shy asked.

"It really isn't your concern," Kate said.

"I would say the affairs of my future husband were my concern, and it seems to me you have all avoided asking Guy whether or not he even wants the responsibility of ruling over a people who still believe him dead and gone."

All eyes were upon Guy as they waited for an answer. He shook his head, "No. I don't."

"Well, then, there you have it," Shy sighed. "Sorry we can't be of more assistance," but she hardly sounded sorry at all. She flounced from the outlaws camp to see to the horse, expecting Guy to follow her shortly.

"Do you mean that?" Archer asked, "You won't stay to help your own people?"

"They are not my people," Guy hissed. "There is no reason for me to stay and risk my neck for their miserable sake."

"That is not what you believed when you stayed to fight for us all back in Nottingham. We have never had ties to any people. We are exactly alike, yet we both know we risked our lives fighting for something greater than ourselves that day. I saw the change in you as you saw it in me. Where's that gone now, Guy?" Archer snapped, giving him a look which nearly made Guy believe that it was not his brother standing before him, but Robin Hood himself. "Stay. Stay for this one day and see what I mean. You can afford that at least, for my sake?"

Guy looked over to where Shy stood waiting for him with impatient eyes and then back to his brother. He sighed, "Fine," he growled, clasping his brother's hand, "but only for the one day." Even as he made the bargain he was certain he was going to regret it.

* * *

**A/N: Hurray! The outlaws are back! That means trouble can't be far behind. ;) **

**Also, the next chapter is done so be on the look out for that soon. And don't forget to review!  
**


	26. Steward of Nottingham

XXVI

Steward of Nottingham

"It is not that I do not think it a good thing for you to be with your brother, Guy, I would never deny you your family, it is only...only—when we rode through Nottingham on our way to Rotherham I saw the fear in you. And I do not forget how I found you dying near the gates of the town. I do not like the idea of staying longer than is necessary, that is all."

Guy smirked and, placed a hand about the back of Shy's head, he pulled her forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead. He had deciphered from Shy's many remarks of her displeasure of staying among the outlaws and delaying their return to Warwick, that what she was trying to tell him was that she feared for his safety. Her first argument was to bring up a lack of space for them to stay comfortably with the outlaws in their camp, the second was the issue of if someone should perchance recognize Guy, now she had resorted to her capitulations on time and vague, quipped remarks about his near death experience. He had let her speak her piece, watched her fidget about, avoid his stares, and stutter in places where she revealed too much of her heart too fast.

"We are perfectly safe among the outlaws, Shy," Guy informed her, "you can trust them."

"I do not trust them," Shy said, "but I do trust you. If you say that they will keep us safe then I will do my best to believe you, but there are only two people I will ever rely on for safety and one of them is you."

"Then who is the other?"

"Myself."

"Ah, I thought as much," Guy leaned in to steal another kiss from her.

Shy turned her head away, "Do you honestly believe one look at that handsome face of yours and I'll suddenly fold like a house of straw? Am I that easily distracted?"

"No, but I like it when you worry for me," Guy said with a coy whisper.

"Worry? For you? I am merely being practical," Shy spluttered, her face turning redder by the moment.

"Say it," Guy whispered in her ear.

"How old are you, exactly, Guy? Five?"

"Say you are worried for me."

"Oh, fine, yes, I'm worried for you! Of course I am! I can't help it, you say we are to stay in Nottingham for a day and I'll can think about are all the ways a skilled assassin can kill you without us seeing! Or how a spy for the Prince might spot you and send soldiers to arrest you. And then, let us not forget all those peasants that might have their own multitude of vendettas against you."

"I promise you we will not stay long enough for those assassins, spies, and vengeful peasants to enact their dreadful work," Guy laughed.

"Especially with me here," Shy scowled as if she was already facing one of her imagined enemies.

"That goes without saying."

Shy mused in silence before she groaned and threw up her hands by way of accepting the sudden change of events. She marched back into the camp and sat down cross-legged, elbow on her knee and head in her hand. "I am engaged to a very persuasive man," she told Archer who had already begun to laugh at the wry expression stamped across the woman's features.

Guy merely shrugged at his brother. Kate sucked in her breath with an exaggerated sniff, "Lord, I think I'm going to be sick." She rolled off of the bunk she had been sitting on and stormed out of the camp.

Much sighed, "I'll get her."

"You'll have to forgive, Kate," Archer said, clearing his throat, his voice taking on a more somber tone, "She has not gotten over Robin's death yet. She's prone to sudden moods, but she's a good woman at the heart of it. Damned decent fighter, too."

"Was she in love with him?" Shy asked, "Sorry, it just seemed-"

"Robin and Kate, well, there was...yeah, there was something there so I've been told," Archer uttered uncomfortably.

Guy crossed his arms, his eyes darkening at Archer's mentioning of the brief relationship which had sparked between Robin Hood and Kate. He had seen it first hand when he had come to join the outlaws. Before he and Robin had set out to York in order to find Archer, he had watched as Robin had calmed and convinced Kate that he was a man that could be trusted. It was not the usual words of friendship that had passed between them. Robin had been far too close to Kate at the time, a hand moving to caress her face, voice soft and intimate. And then when he had seen them kissing, and making up excuses to head off into the forest together on scouting expeditions, he knew. Guy was not a fool when it came to such matters. He could recognize the difference between a mere dalliance and true attachment, and while Robin was honestly attracted and intrigued by Kate, Kate had been hopelessly in love with the outlaw-hero. It made him burn. True, a man had needs and Kate was not exactly what one would call a hideous looking hag, but Guy had fought with Robin countless times over Marian and each time the man had sworn his love and loyalty to his deceased wife, each time he had cried that he would one day make Gisborne pay. Well, that day of reckoning had never come and Robin had moved on to satisfy his lust elsewhere.

Guy looked over at Shy as she continued to speak to Archer, Tuck, and Little John. At some point the conversation turned into a ceaseless buzz of words as his thoughts overtook him. Was what he was doing with Shy much like that of Robin and Kate? God, no, Robin had never proclaimed any love for Kate aside from vague sidelong looks of attraction. Shy did not merely stir up feelings of desire and lust. He looked at her and saw his whole life. She was the only woman who had ever loved him. Surely his own love need not feel shamed by what he once felt, and always would, for Marian?

Eventually, Kate returned to the camp accompanied by Much. "Now that we are all here," Archer said, "We can make for Locksley. I think Guy, you deserve to see a little of the village you left behind."

* * *

The road to Locksley felt so familiar. Guy was certain he could have walked it with his eyes closed. Why did Archer think it was a good idea to go walking right into the village? Suppose the steward's soldiers had already arrived and had the place surrounded? Those fears proved to be unfounded. The village of Locksley was without a soldier in sight.

Guy looked at the peaceful village that had once been his. Everything seemed exactly as he had left it, nothing had changed. He marveled at the ability of such small communities to withstand so much over the years and remain as unaffected as ever. Even when he had returned to these lands after years of exile, not a house seemed out of place, nor a blade of grass longer than it had been the season he had left.

The gang did not bother to shield themselves. They were used to no longer having to deal with the constant surveillance of Castle guards. Guy could have laughed, of course they were perfectly safe here, all his own men would have moved on to new masters and since the steward had not yet arrived there was no one to properly guard the village. The outlaws were free to roam at will through the countryside. By God, Vaysey must be turning over in his grave. The image appealed to Guy so much, he managed to mask his unease as he walked about in broad daylight through Locksley Village.

The villagers stopped and went to greet the outlaws as they usually did, expecting the usual supply of food or money. They all shied away in horror at the sight of Guy. He cringed at their looks of fear, fixing them with a dead stare. Archer calmed them all and explained that the rumors of Guy's death had been proven false. The story of his survival was cut short and Shy was left to hide behind the others, safe in her own anonymity.

Guy straightened up. What was he doing, letting the superstitions and old prejudices of these simple people harm his pride? Were these not the same miserable wretches who stood gleefully by while his home had gone up in flames? Were these not the same men and women who had despised him merely for his mother's blood? They did not know the meaning of honor or respect and so he had never tried to gain theirs. He waited for the looks of loathing to cross the villagers faces and the shouts of hatred. Let it get over and done with so that Archer and the gang could finally see why they were wasting their time in bringing him back to a home that was never a home to him.

A man came forward to stand before his old lord and master. He looked him up and down. "I saw ya fight at Nottingham," he said gruffly, "We was told ya died finding a tunnel t' lead us all out t' safety. That ya helped in killing the Sheriff and Lady Isabella. Ya fought with us, same as any man here," he lowered his head and performed a small, inelegant bow. "Bless ya, Master Guy."

Seeing this, another man came forward, one that Guy vaguely recognized at the fight of Nottingham. He bowed as well. The others followed suit. Guy stared wide eyed in disbelief, unable to move, unable to respond to this show of fealty. He felt someone take hold of his hand. He turned to see Shy just behind him, gently assuring him.

"Have ya come back to Locksley for good, my lord?" a woman asked.

"Are ya gonna resume your position?"

Guy did not know what to say, "I..."

"It is not yet safe for Sir Guy to return to Locksley immediately," Archer said, coming to his rescue, "Content yourself, until that day, that your true master is alive and well."

"Oh, we know who are true master is and it ain't him," A man shouted, drawing the gang's attention to a separate group who had split apart from the rest of the villagers. "Our master is lying dead and buried in the ground. Unless you've all gone soft an' forgotten who this man here truly is. Nothing but a lying, thug. Scum o' the earth. We'd rather die then have to live under your rule again. We'll take our chances with the new lord just come inta' Nottingham this morning."

"The steward?" Tuck whispered. "He's here?"

"How many men did you say rode into Nottingham?" Archer asked.

The man shrugged, "Don't know. Fine parade o' them though. The man intends on introducing himself to the people this afternoon. We were on our way t' town before you came up with that Devil at your side."

"Then, mates, I believe it is to Nottingham we go," Archer roared boisterously, "Oh, you lot can follow us and the Devil, as you so put it, if you like. We won't wait up for you."

Guy was not surprised at the reaction from the villagers. He had always been hated by them, he would always continue to be so. He would never seek to ask for their forgiveness, nor did he feel he would ever deserve it. The few villagers who had spoken out in his favor were merely a passing anomaly, they would soon be convinced by the others that he was not their true master, and they would be reminded of all the horrors he had inflicted upon them. Still, for a brief moment he saw himself as a returning hero. The glory of it was still clinging to him stubbornly. Shy walked alongside him, her hand still firmly interlocked with his own. In her eyes he saw such bright adoration and love. So what for the opinion of a handful of fickle villagers? In Shy's eyes he was a hero, and that was surprisingly enough.

* * *

"Oh, high, gray walls," Shy sighed under her breath as she stared up at the gates of Nottingham, "what tricks and traps are lurking past your looming battlements?" She was brought away from her poetic musings, following the rest of the gang past the lowered drawbridge and into the town.

It was a mess of half ruined buildings and rubble strewn streets that were only barely beginning to show hope of being one day fully clear again. On a small rise was what appeared to be a vast gorge of stone belched up out of the underbelly of the earth. High, wooden beams were staked over the area and some pieces of recovered stonework were being refitted into what would someday form the foundation for the new Castle of Nottingham. Until then large white tents dotted the hill-rise where the work was commencing. A fortress of wood had been installed, and crude outposts and been arranged where soldiers milled about, keeping the populace away from the work crews and architects redesigning the castle. It looked positively barbaric, and Shy was reminded of the old Saxon keeps often described in the records Lady Thea had read out to her.

There were plenty of soldiers about the town, but they were wearing plain chain-mail and no livery to speak of. They helped in the directing of traffic on the crowded streets, and steered people clear of congested avenues blocked by the remains of the explosion. It looked intimidating and Archer and the others avoided most of the soldiers, but none of the men seemed to recognize them and the danger quickly passed. The soldiers appeared civil enough, a lifetime of fighting off corrupt guards had made the outlaws suspicious of any man wearing the uniform of a solider. The outlaws watched as the soldiers helped the townspeople, or walked in line down the square to reach the fort on the hill. Everything seemed to be working according to a set order.

"So this is Nottingham," Shy declared, "it is smaller then I imagined."

"Most legends are when you hold them up to the light," Archer retorted. He still wore his hood up, but Shy could make out the smirk from underneath such a cowl.

They took a turn about the market place. The outlaws chatted amongst the people and Guy was made known to them once more. Each person had a unique reaction to seeing the old Master-At-Arms. Some did not entirely believe, others spat at his feet and turned away, but a few who remembered the days of fighting remarked on the change they had witnessed and made bold to shake hands with him. This would be enough, Tuck noted, enough to get the word around the rest of the town and from there to the other villages in the shire and soon the rumor would carry with it its own power.

The gang seemed to split apart as they traveled through the square. Kate and Much headed off down one alley, Little John and Tuck went another way, and Archer and Guy walked together. The square itself was not large and so there was no fear if they had to all make a sudden getaway that someone would find themselves lost and stumbling behind and separate from the group.

Shy wandered near Archer and Guy, keeping an eye on their position at all times, not knowing the town streets at all, she had no real choice. Yet, she roamed about, taking stock of the goods being sold and finding herself enjoying observing the interactions between these people. Two guards stood at the end of one row of stalls, one was staring at her intently. Shy did not notice for a time until she at last looked up and saw the direction of his eyes. A smile froze on her face. She nodded her head and sidestepped away. The guard followed casually. Shy slowly tried to make her way back to Guy and Archer, without alerting the man that he had caused her anxiety. Suddenly the guard stopped and tilted his helmeted head, "I knew it was you!" he exclaimed, pointing at her, "I thought I recognized that pretty face o' yours."

"You have me mistaken for someone else," Shy said in a rush. The guard moved to stand in front of her, cutting off her route to Guy and Archer. "Sir, move out of my way."

"No I don't," the guard said, "I'd know that little body o' yours anywhere." He raised his helmet just a little so that Shy might get a better view of his face.

Shy's legs buckled, her strength evaporating at the sight. She recognized the man's face as one she had seen many times in her nightmares. His seemingly innocent grin was merely a trick of the light. He was a soldier in Lord Foster's service, and as such he had had the pleasure of enjoying the delights of her flesh many times. Shy saw his glove covered hands and knew what coarseness lay underneath, how his fingers and pinched and pulled and petted. "How's about a kiss between old friends, eh, pretty one?" He laughed, catching her round the waist before she could think to run.

"Get off me," Shy said weakly, trying to capture enough air in her lungs to scream.

"I don't think so," the guard's voice lowered to that menacing pitch she had heard so often, "I think we go off an' have ourselves a nice little chat and get reacquainted and then we take a trip to see Lord Foster. I'm sure he'd be more than amused t' see ya again free as ya are."

"I think," Shy hissed, pulling forth the cold steel of the dagger from her sleeve to press it against the thin layer of skin at the base of his chin, "you should let me go."

"Do as the woman says," a voice that was more a growl whispered from behind the guard. He turned to stare up at Sir Guy's darkened countenance, hellfire dancing in the blue of his eyes. Guy had a sword pressed to the guard's side and he prodded him with it when he did not react.

The guard raised his arms and stepped away from Shy. "All right, now, temper," he said, "Didn't know she had a master, thought she might have given ya the slip. No harm now. Best keep your eye on that one, sir, she's known for causing a horrible fuss."

Guy curled his lip in disgust and with one fluid move he raised the hilt of his blade high and brought it slamming down on the guard's helmet. The gong resounded and the man was lying unconscious at Shy's feet in seconds. The townspeople stopped for an instant to stare at whatever the ruckus was, but upon seeing the outlaws standing over a guard they quickly came to the conclusion that whatever it was, the gang must be in the right as always.

Shy was still breathing hard, her heart pounding away in her chest. She looked down at the guard, fear turned into anger and Shy kicked at his prone body. Again she struck him and again, landing blow after blow to the helpless body of her long ago rapist. She let out a muffled shriek as she pummeled him senselessly. She heard a crack in his arm at the elbow and knew she had broken it. This seemed to fuel her further and she stomped upon the afflicted arm once more for good measure. Watching the escalating brutality with a sickened eye, Guy caught Shy and dragged her away from the wounded guard. "That's enough," he told her, hushing her and holding her to him. "That's enough."

Shy pressed her head to his chest, her arms folding about him. She screamed against him, the sound muffled by the pressure of his body against her own. Guy felt her fingers like talons at his back as she gripped him. The horrible noise, while not entirely audible, vibrated against him and he could feel the hot flush of her cheek. With the tension released, she lay weak and limp in his arms. Slowly she raised her head, her eyes were dry, but dark with turmoil. "He has followed me," she muttered wildly. "He has followed me!"

"Who has followed you?" Guy asked.

Before Shy could answer him a troop of soldiers entered the square and one stood with a scroll which he unraveled, "Citizens of Nottingham," he proclaimed in a loud voice which silenced all activity in the area, "it is with the blessing of the good Prince John that he hereby appoints a steward to the shire of Nottingham to oversee the rebuilding of the castle, to collect the due taxes and tithes of the people, and to be judge over any crime or wrongdoing. It is by this blessing and privilege that the honorable Lord Foster of Rotherham be made to assume such responsibility until such a time as a Sheriff may be appointed."

A man dressed in all manner of finery was revealed from behind the soldiers. He stepped forward, flanked on either side by his men. He was a fair-haired man, a few dull gray strays beginning to peek out at the sides. His eyes were as green as jade stones and he smiled fully. He was a thin and lanky man, but fit, and seemed to give off the air of a man who was no stranger to battles. While not of the common cut of a handsome figure, he was not unattractive, there was a charismatic glow about him. "Good people of Nottingham," he said in a clear, strong voice, "I am honored to serve you and I hope that we shall soon see this town raised once again out of the ashes of this terrible destruction. Rest assured that I will deal with you all fairly and justly. I rule with a firm hand, but I am no tyrant like those who have ruled here in the past. I will endeavor to deserve your trust. Your loyalty and honesty are all that I desire."

Lord Foster grinned and gave his thanks. The people applauded. Shy fainted.

* * *

**A/N: AhehehahaMWAHAHA *Cough* Oh come now, I spent twenty six chapters hyping up this creepster villain, you just KNEW he had to show up at some point. I promise he won't disappoint. Also: Angst. It's coming. In abundance. You are unprepared. :) I'm about two chapters ahead at this point, so I'll post the next one soon. In the meantime do leave a review if you are so inclined. **


	27. An Unexpected Blow

XXVII

An Unexpected Blow

"_I will have his blood!_"

Guy roared like a wounded lion as Little John and Archer held him pinned against a wall post. He struggled and fought, hissing and spitting and cursing without care. Lord Foster and his men had since left the market square. The people had cleared the street. Guy had drawn his sword and charged after the nobleman with a fury unseen. It had taken all of Little John's and Archer's strength to hold him back and even more to keep him from killing them all in his red-mist rage.

"_Let me go. I mean to kill him. I have sworn it. Stand aside and let me take his life!_"

"Guy, you can not kill him now, you will bring an entire army down on our heads!" Archer shouted, trying to reason with the mad man.

"_Do you know what he has done?_"

"No! Guy...where is this...coming from?" Archer gasped, feeing the man kick at him.

"_Shy—he bought and kept her. He tortured her! He raped her! All her life, all her life—let me kill him! Let me kill him!"_

"I can not," Archer said, although feeling his stomach turn at the brief and violent mention of Shy's past. "You know I can not." He winced as he heard Guy snarl words of cowardice at him. Guy's eyes were dark and Archer could have imagined he saw red flecks in their swirling depths.

"Archer," John growled, "We can not hold him off forever." His hand bunched into a fist as he readied himself to put Guy out of commission for a time until his sense returned.

Wanting to avoid knocking Guy unconscious, Archer tried a different approach, "Guy, Guy, think of Shy. She needs you now. Look, she is still senseless! Who do you think she will want to see when she comes round? Who do you think she will need? The corpse of her abuser or her betrothed at her side? Eh? Think, Guy! For God's sake!"

"Don't! Don't!" Guy hissed, "She wants her revenge and she'll have it, but I'll not have her take a life. I'll not see her break under that burden. It has to be me who kills him, do you see?"

"She's coming 'round!" Tuck called out. After Shy had fallen and Guy had gone into his murderous rage, Tuck had been the one left to look after her. He was holding her in his arms. The woman stirred and let out a thin moan, but her eyes did not open. Tuck frowned as he watched Shy's face contort in what he could only fathom was a grimace of pain. Small beads of sweat appeared on her brow. She tossed her head to one side and her arms moved as if she knew she should wake but was unable to do so. This was not a mere fainting spell. "Something is not right," he said in a murmur, but loud enough to alert the others.

"Kate?" Tuck called, summoning the girl forward, "Place your hand upon her forehead. How does she feel to you?"

"Warm," she said, shifting her palm from Shy's forehead to her cheek, "Terribly so."

With a final push, Guy shook free of his captors, but the manic energy in him had transferred direction. Instead of giving chase to Lord Foster, he ran to Tuck and Shy. John and Archer followed, relieved that he had regained hold of himself. "What is wrong?"

Guy held out his arms and Tuck transferred Shy to him. The moment she was moved a cry of pain was torn from Shy's throat and her body convulsed once. Her eyelids flickered, but she remained senseless.

"Set her down!" Tuck said immediately clearing a space.

Guy did so in shock, letting Shy lie upon the cold cobblestone street, her head cradled in his lap. Tuck examined her thoroughly. A dark stain began to spread along the skirt of Shy's dress. It appeared a deep, violet in contrast with the blue dye of the cloth. On the cobblestone underneath her, congealed, blackish-red blood trickled slowly down in one thin line. "She's bleeding," Tuck said.

"Bleeding?" Guy repeated, "But...how?"

Tuck shook his head, "I need you to wake her for me. Now."

The severity in Tuck's tone alerted Guy to the gravity of the situation. He shook Shy, turning her head from side to side in an effort to jostle her from her faint. "Shy?" he called her name, "Shy, wake up. Wake up!" There was no response from the woman, who had stopped moving altogether and was now lying quite pale and clammy as the blood stain grew ever darker. "Come on now," Guy urged, his panic continuing to mount. "Open your eyes. Please, Shy...Shy. _SHY!_"

At the scream the woman's eyes blinked open and she stared up at Guy with an eerily calm gaze. Guy exhaled in relief, giving her a small kiss and stroking her hair back with a shaking hand. "Thank God," he whispered repeatedly, "Thank God..."

Shy did not say a word as she was rocked in Guy's arms, eventually she turned her head to one side and once more closed her eyes, going still and limp again. "No!" Guy shouted.

"It's all right," Tuck assured him, "She'll wake again. I merely needed to be certain she was able to be called back to us. She's asleep," he said, feeling her pulse at her wrist, "She'll wake once she's rested."

"I don't understand," Guy said, "What's happened to her?" He rose to his feet once more, Shy bundled in his arms.

"We need to get her back to the camp," Tuck said, "She will need proper rest and care, and I can not provide that for her while we all stand about gawking in the middle of the street."

Guy knew when someone was purposefully avoiding giving him a straightforward answer. So as the rest of the outlaws quickly moved out, Guy demanded Tuck tell him exactly what was going on. The warrior-monk looked over at him sadly, "I do not profess to be an expert in such matters," he warned, "but from the fever and the bleeding I believe Shy is in the process of a miscarriage."

Guy felt the world drop away from him. "What?" He looked down at the pale woman in his arms, and the dark stain upon her dress. "But...but I did not know she was...she never told me..."

"From the amount she has bled it is probable she was not even aware she was with child yet," Tuck said quietly. "I am very sorry for your loss," he said sincerely.

In an effort to disappear as discreetly as possible, Shy was covered with a cloak and kept hidden until they left the town of Nottingham behind them. She stirred occasionally, but there were no more moans of pain or fevered tosses of her head. Guy hardly felt the weight of her in his arms as he walked back to the camp. Thoughts of death danced about in his brain as he reflected on all the brutal methods of murder he could use upon Lord Foster, compounded with the stunned sorrow he felt for Shy. How would he tell her of the miscarriage? How could he?

Once back at the camp, one of the bunks was made up for Shy to lie upon. She was still warm with fever, but at least the bleeding had stopped, and so there was no more danger of her condition worsening.

"Now what do we do?" Guy asked Tuck. He stood over Shy, feeling as useless as a discarded rag.

"We wait."

* * *

Every muscle in her lower body felt permanently coiled; tensed as if waiting for the final jerk upon the string of a bow to snap back the line and straighten. Consciousness trickled down into her being slowly. She groaned, stretching her legs out in an effort to ease the cramps radiating about her abdomen. She thought she saw a shadow looming over her and she drew back in confusion. Blinking, the shadow came into focus. "Guy?"

The man hushed her, placing his hands upon her shoulders as she tried to sit up, urging her to lie back down. "You've been unconscious for a while," he told her, "Just rest."

"Good Lord," she said, "You mean to tell me I fainted? And...and you all saw?" she looked up at the rest of the gang, "Oh, I will never live it down."

"You frightened us all, Shy," Guy told her, "but I am glad you are all right."

She reached out and laid a hand upon Guy's cheek, her thumb tracing lines just under his eye. He turned his head and kissed her palm. She winced, "I must have fallen quite hard," she remarked as she tried to prop herself up, but only succeeded in slipping further down against the bunk.

"You are in pain?" Guy asked, hurriedly trying to make her more comfortable, "She's in pain," he told the others, but the statement was directed towards Tuck who came to kneel beside the bunk.

"That is to be expected," Tuck said, propping Shy's head up. He pressed down upon her stomach, working his fingers down along the length of her midriff until he received a reaction: a short whimper. "Yes, that will fade soon."

"Fade?" Shy asked, "I don't understand. I did not think fainting was so grave an illness?"

There was a silence which worried her. "What?" she asked, "Guy?" but he would not meet her gaze and his lack of confidence startled her worst of all. "Tell me, please," she urged them all, "What happened?"

"Calm yourself," Tuck said, patting her hand, "It will not do you any good to become overly excited. I am sorry to be the one to tell you this news. You did not merely faint back in Nottingham. It seems the encounter you had with the soldier combined with the shock of seeing Foster caused a...that is to say...you suffered a miscarriage."

"Miscarriage?" Shy repeated, her face pale. "That can not be. I was not with child." She pulled back the blanket to glance down between her legs. She saw the dried stain of blood upon the blue dress. "Ah..." a breathless, horrified gasp left her lips. "How terrible that is," she said in a deadened voice, "Terrible..." she tasted the word on her tongue, letting the syllables rattle against her teeth. She breathed it in, the feel and the color of the word painted over her lips in one repeated gasp.

A single tear moved down her cheek. She wiped at it furiously, blinking rapidly to dispel any others. Somehow she found herself on her feet, pushing and shoving the offered arms and hands which tried to urge her back down again. "No, no. I need to go. I need to get out." Ignoring her protesting limbs and the ache spreading in her abdomen, she kicked out in a run and dashed away from the camp.

Guy moved to follow her, but Tuck stayed him, "Perhaps it were best she be left alone."

"You do not know Shy," Guy said, "It is not loneliness she is seeking. Let me go to her."

Tuck stepped out of his way and Guy pursued the path that Shy had taken out of the camp. He headed out into the small canyon, but he did not see her. He walked out of the canyon, hoping to be able to get a better glimpse of any trail out on the road. He sighed, Shy had not gone far at all. The moment he emerged from the canyon he saw her sitting upon a fallen log. Her head was down, her legs pressed tightly together with her hands limp in her lap.

"Come forward, Guy, I am not so weak as to break at the sight of you," she sighed, glancing up at him.

"I would never think you weak," Guy told her as he sat down beside her.

"And yet my own body betrays me at the least moments shock," Shy said, "that is weakness."

"That is not your fault." He took her in his arms and rocked her gently. She curled up against him, he felt warm against her cold, clammy skin.

"I think that it is," she whispered, "I think I am not made to bear children. In truth, I thought I lost that ability a long time ago."

"What are you saying?" Guy released Shy to look at her. Her words did not make any sense. They sparked a dread in him, a dread of the calm expression upon her face and the lack of tears for the baby she would never know. Did not all women cry for their lost infants? Did they all not feel the acute pain of misplacement? How could Shy look so calm, when he, himself was breaking for her?

"I have been with child three times before," Shy said slowly, her hands beginning to tremble, "but...but Foster's household was no place for infants and children. There was never a chance to rest, a chance to care for the baby within me. Always I would lose the child eventually. I...I thought it almost a blessing. What need of a child have I? I used to think. What need of bearing the bastard of the man who raped me? Whenever I would get with child I _hated_ the creature. I was glad it would never see the light of day for I would have been a monstrous mother. But...to lose your child—and before I knew! I never thought I would conceive a child in love. I would never have cursed that."

Guy dashed away from Shy suddenly, but she heard him retching violently, ill at the thought of Foster and his men having thrice impregnated her and then simultaneously causing her to lose the same baby. He thought he had known Shy, that he had a perfect and clear understanding of her past and the tortures she had known, but he had only touched the surface. He had only been staring at the shine on the water of a deep lake, now he was staring into the depths. His sudden illness was a combination of exhaustion, stress, and horror. How close he had been today to the perpetrator of all these crimes, only to have his vengeance thwarted. The fear of Shy's miscarriage and the shock of losing a child, and now this...now this. He wanted to bundled Shy up in his arms and carry her back to Warwick with him. He wanted her gone from Nottingham and from Foster and back amongst friends. There she would never be out of his sight for too long, she would be safe, safe and happy.

"Am I never to be free of that man?" Shy asked as Guy made his way back to her side.

"You are free," Guy told her, clutching her hand, "I am taking you back home with me, you will never see him again."

Shy rested her head upon his shoulder, wrapping an arm about his waist, "Yes, but can we start back tomorrow, my love?" she asked, "I am so tired."

Guy tried to pick her up, but Shy squirmed in his grasp. "No," she insisted groggily, "Support me," she told him as she rose to her feet, leaning heavily upon him, "Do not carry me. My pain will not go away simply because I let you shoulder the burden."

"I do not mind the burden," Guy told her.

"But I have my pride," she smiled at him, the sheen of sorrow still dulling her eyes, "I have been told it is almost as tiresome as that of a man's."

"I can carry your pride as well, heavy though it is."

Shy laughed lightly, "Oh Guy," she clutched at his hand as she hobbled back down the path towards the canyon, "how I love you. I think if I had never known you I should have been dead now."

"I know I would have been," Guy whispered.

"There will be children when we are married," Shy said, tears in her voice, "children I will cherish. I shall love them too. I already do."

Shy turned her face away as they walked back into the camp. The outlaws saw her crying against Guy's shoulder and asked if there was something they could do. Guy shook his head and helped Shy back into a bunk. The tears were from exhaustion, he said, that was all, they could not be helped. Guy sat upon the edge of the bunk, stroking her hair and keeping hold of her hand. He whispered words of love and protection to her until she was calmed and closed her eyes in an attempt to find sleep.

"I have never seen the like."

Kate sat on an upper bunk across from Guy, her legs dangling over the edge. She had been quietly watching Guy coaxing Shy back to sleep. Guy looked up at her and then away. "Not now, Kate," he said, directing his attentions back to the sleeping woman. He tucked a blanket up and over her, pressing a hand to her cheek briefly to check for any returning fever.

"How you are with her—when you never had a kind word for any man or woman, when you are all harshness and cruelty—how it is that you can be so gentle."

Guy laughed mockingly, "Disturbing your sensibilities am I?"

"It's wondrous. You have changed. You have really...changed."

"Kate, I am not a monster. I am a man. I am all harshness and cruelty and kindness and gentleness. I have not changed overmuch. I merely have acquired something I lacked."

"What?"

"Her," Guy said, gesturing to Shy.

"You are not about to give me that old song of how love can change a man?" Kate snorted, "Love can not altar what is fixed."

"Says the woman who has never known a life without it," Guy retorted with a snap. "Kate, don't try to understand me. You will make yourself see only what you want. I am still the same man who killed your brother without remorse. That has not changed."

Kate leapt from the bunk and stormed away from Guy at the mention of her brother. "I take back what I said. I wonder how she can stand you!"

Shy sighed and rolled over upon the bunk, "Oh, I wonder how I do too."

Guy laughed aloud at the unexpected comment, breaking and shattering the melancholy mood which had been suffocating them all. Shy gave Guy's arm a tug and, Guy laid down beside her. The bunk was small and not designed for two, but Shy curled up against Guy, his arms cocooning her body. Her every silent gesture seemed to be speak volumes of her love for him. Guy lay beside her even after Shy had fallen asleep, in time he felt his own exhaustion catch up with him. Between the peaceful glow of the evening forest, the quiet hum of talk about the camp, and the pressing warmth of Shy in his arms, Guy found himself drifting into blissful sleep. Tomorrow they would head for home, and this nightmare could be put far behind them.

* * *

**A/N: Sorry for the shorter chapter, but this is sort of an interlude for the mass chaos approaching. The next update will be soon! **


	28. Coming to a Crossroads

XXVIII

Coming to a Crossroad

Shy was much improved the following morning. The pains she had been experiencing had vanished and the lethargy that had been hanging about her had evaporated, leaving her just as healthy and energetic as she was before the miscarriage. There was still a sorrow written into the gray of her eyes, and when she was not engaged in conversation, her silent contemplations drew a dark cloud over her. She remained in the camp while Guy readied to leave, he insisted upon her conserving her strength for the journey ahead of them. Even though she protested to being treated like an invalid Guy brooked no argument. She was to rest, that was that. So she tried to give herself over to her betrothed's advice. She lay upon a bunk, staring up at the thatched leaves which made up the roof of the camp.

She must have lost herself in her own thoughts, for she was jerked back down to reality by a light tapping upon the wooden post behind her. She rolled over and looked down at Archer. He gave her a friendly wave. "What is it, Archer?"

"How are you feeling?"

"I am well, you asked me that before you left to go to Nottingham, you know. Did you expect me to change in the course of a few hours?" Shy retorted with a light laugh.

"I figure I should be concerned with the well-being of my future sister-in-law," Archer said.

"And you want something from me."

"How did you know?"

"Guy has a habit of tilting his head to the left to avoid my eyes when he wishes to either ask a favor of me, or enquire after something personal. You do the very same thing," Shy said, raising an eyebrow, a grin tugging on her lips.

"That is extraordinary," Archer said, "Can you detect what I'm thinking now? What if I turned slowly to the right and raised my left eyebrow, what do I remind you of then?"

"A great fool," Shy said jabbing his shoulder, "Go on, Archer, you need not dance around the question. Make yourself free to ask me whatever you wish."

"Ah, I'm afraid you might regret saying that, Shy, for I don't believe you will be very obliging. I wanted to ask you about Lord Foster."

The humor in Shy's eyes died. She gave a sigh and righted herself into a seated position, her hands folded in her lap. She straightened up and fixed Archer with a very decided and cold gaze. Archer did not take offense, he realized the look was merely in self-defense so she would not betray her true emotions to him. Shy gave him a small nod, "What is it that you want to know?"

Archer sighed, he had thought she would have refused him. He would not have begrudged her, she had every right to never want to speak of the man or hear his name mentioned ever again, but he was glad she had found the strength to bear his questioning. "I have been in Nottingham all morning seeking any information I could find on Lord Foster. From those who know him, I have only heard that he is exactly what he claims to be: a fair-minded and just ruler. I could find no one willing to contradict this. There were a few people who had lived in Rotherham at one time, so I can not assume that this is merely idle chatter from the excited populace. Clearly those stories do not match with yours. I wanted to ask you about him. His behavior, his ways, anything you are willing to share...if you can, that is."

"No, Archer, you have every right to want to ask me. I know you care about Nottingham. It is only fitting you should learn a little of who your new lord and master is," Shy clenched her hands together in one fist, she kept her eyes trained on her knuckles as they grew steadily whiter. Concentrating on the cracked skin of her hands, and the veins standing out on the pale skin of her wrists mesmerized her into a serenity, allowing her to speak.

"Lord Foster is the cruelest man I have ever known. It is not enough for him to merely inflict pain, it must be done slowly, creatively, and never the same way twice or he gets bored. He enjoys it, honestly I do not believe he can help it, he was made to take pleasure in the pain of others. Anyone in his household knows full well of the monster they serve. He surrounds himself with equally cruel men, the servant girls are only slightly better than whores, but there is only one women he keeps for his darker needs. I have no doubt that there was some poor girl in his keep before me. I do not know what became of her. Sometimes I think that is best. However, to his people he is every inch the just nobleman. The better to continue in his debauched state undisturbed. If his estates are always in order, and his people always content, who will come knocking to check under all those trapdoors? Your people have nothing to fear from him," Shy laughed, squeezing her hands tight.

"I think that we do if Prince John trusts him enough to be his steward in Nottingham. No," Archer mused, "we will plan a way to tumble this Devil from his throne just as we did his predecessor."

"I wish you luck in that with all my heart. Let me know when you have defeated him."

"But of course, we are in the middle of trying to solve how best to defeat such a cunning man," Archer remarked, leaning back against the side of the bunk. He looked up at Shy, "Tuck and I are of the opinion a spy in the household would be the best approach."

Shy nodded, "Yes, it would be, a man who claims to have the same dark tendencies as Foster would be welcome among his guards, but a pretty, young face would be enough to turn his head for as long as you needed. You get a girl into that fortress and she will hear every correspondence passed between Foster and his men. He does not think to curb his tongue around his slaves, for we have no one to pass along our secrets."

"An excellent idea," Archer nodded, "Of course it would be highly dangerous, especially for a woman."

"Very, but if she were capable of defending herself, she might be able to hold off any abusers. She would not escape unscathed though," Shy shuddered, "but she might be able to withstand the worst of punishments. If she were clever, and could figure out Foster and his tastes. She must know how to read a man's face in order to derive what his thoughts are and from there what his actions will be."

"In other words she should be you."

Shy laughed, "Yes, she would..." Shy looked at Archer and his open and pleading expression. Her blood ran cold and she backed away, "you would not dare..."

"No, no I would not dare. I would only ask, would only plead with you. Hasn't this man destroyed enough lives?" Archer clutched her hand in earnest, "Does he not deserve to be destroyed himself? And you have the greatest claim on his life than anyone."

"He will kill me!" Shy hissed, "He will have me tortured endlessly. I tried to kill him! He sold me away, but if he saw me again he'd kill me for the sport of it! No! No, take your mad ideas elsewhere!"

"Very well," Archer raised his hands to show his submission to Shy's will.

At that moment, Guy returned to the camp. He looked far easier than he had since first returning to Nottingham. He gave Shy a smile and offered her his hand to help her down from the bunk. The smile vanished at the controlled look of fear in Shy's eyes. He frowned, turning about to lock eyes with Archer. "What did you say to her?" he accused, noting the guilty expression upon his brother's face.

"Guy, calm yourself, you're going to make a hasty judgement against me and I-"

"_What_ did you say to her?" Guy said drawing out each word with a slow, rumbling growl.

"Merely asked her about Lord Foster. We need information on him, that is all...and the issue of getting someone close enough to his encampment in order to know of his correspondence with Prince John." Archer flinched, fancying for a moment that Guy was going to strangle him on the spot.

Guy stared at Archer incredulously, his mouth frozen in a thin line. His voice was soft when he began to speak, "Are you..._out of your mind?_" He slammed his hand against the wooden side of the bunk, "What would possess you to ask such a thing of Shy?"

Shy placed a hand upon Guy's shoulder, "It is all right, I refused. He did not pressure me further, you can not blame him for trying."

"You'll find I am more than capable of blaming him," Guy said, "Do you not realize the danger you would be placing her in?" He told Archer, "By God, being among these outlaws has made you lose your common sense. You really have taken this charade of playing Robin Hood too far, brother. He also had a talent for understanding the danger of a situation, but never the insight to understand the danger he placed all those he professed to care for in!"

"Better to want to do something to change the world then run and hide from it!" Archer said defensively.

"Stop!" Shy cried, "Stop it, the both of you. Archer, I know how much it would mean to assure the safety of Nottingham, and Guy, thank you for being my defender in all things, but there is no reason for this to escalate further. I have refused. Let it end there, if you please."

"Fine," Guy conceded, "Come, Shy," he offered her his hand once again, "let us get you home and away from these madmen."

"Oh, let us not be so harsh. Ambitious, eager, and loyal men I would say, certainly not mad. In fact it all reminds me of someone," She hopped down from the bunk and walked with Guy out past the awning of the camp.

"Woman, your jests would put swords to shame."

Shy snickered, Guy's face was still darkened with pent-up anger and her light taunting was only adding to his mounting frustration. She raised herself up onto the tips of her feet and kissed his cheek. Guy turned his face away, muttering darkly under his breath. This only proved an encouragement. She kissed him twice over, until he tilted his head in her direction, a rueful smirk on his face. "Yet I suppose you have qualities which make up for that."

"Wait!" Archer called out from behind them as he along with the rest of the gang came to stand outside the camp.

Guy sighed, "I can not abide lengthy farewells, Archer. What is it that you want?"

"A last minute proposition, and one I believe you can afford me," Archer said, "Please, come back and we will talk."

"I can not afford needless delays."

"You can give me a few moments. It will not put you behind by long."

Guy at last gave his reluctant consent, Archer was pleased, "Good, then while you and I have our little chat, Shy can accompany the others as they make their usual rounds through Locksley, the villagers will be expecting them."

Guy looked ready to protest this, but Shy stopped him, "I do not mind. Besides, if I am to be riding all day, I will enjoy the moment of exercise," she winked at Guy. "We can leave when I return."

Seeing that Shy was fine with this arrangement gave Guy leave to speak with Archer at his ease. Even if he did not always agree with the gang or even like them, he did trust them enough to know that Shy would be kept perfectly safe while under their watch. He walked with Archer back to the camp, glancing over his shoulder for a moment to see Shy depart with the rest of the gang.

* * *

"Why did Archer need to speak to Guy alone?" Shy asked Tuck. "Surely anything he had to tell him could have been said in front of me."

"It is not my place to say," Tuck said.

"Unless it was about me," Shy gave an overly dramatic gasp, "Gracious, they're whispering about me behind my back aren't they? Horrible, I'll have to give them what for when we get back."

"You have a rather fond opinion of yourself, don't you, Shy?" Tuck asked, clearing aside the thick foliage

Shy laughed, "Perhaps. I do deserve it though. When I see all the directions my life could have gone—why should I not praise myself?"

"And when was the last time you gave anyone else such praise and consideration?"

Shy paused, raising an eyebrow at Tuck, "You think to preach to me?"

"He's terribly good at it," Much muttered to her, "No use backing out now, he'll use all his fancy words to trick you into saying exactly what he wants you to."

"Oh really?" Shy said with a sly drawl, "Well, go on then, preach away, I'm safe enough in my own views not to feel offended. I can only imagine what you have to say about me next."

"You want to hear what I truly have to say to you?" Tuck asked.

"Please," Shy gestured. She sprang up onto a fallen log and balanced upon it for a stretch.

"Very well. I find you to be a selfish and cold human being with no concern for the well being of anyone else but yourself and behind those finely crafted words of yours you are no better than a child clawing at the last vestiges of light before the door shuts and leaves you in the dark. No one's achievements are greater than your own, no one has suffered or ever will suffer as much as you and therefore other people are hardly worth considering. Is that apt enough, or shall I continue?"

Shy nearly overbalanced from the log, but she landed on her feet, dusting off her dress she cleared her throat, her cheeks reddening at Tuck's words. She heard Kate laughing quietly into her hand. "And all this in only two days? I shudder to think what you would have to say about me if you knew me for a week."

"Still only petty jokes, Shy?"

"I do not have to defend myself to you," Shy shrugged, "Besides, if I am as selfish as you say, how is it that I have found myself engaged to another man?"

"Ah, that is no great mystery. Guy is almost as selfish as you are, both of you would be happy to blot the entire world out of existence if you could."

"Perhaps I am happy in my selfishness. I have a right to it, it does not hurt anyone."

"Only yourself," Tuck said.

Shy fell silent, not wanting to give into Tuck's words, for she was beginning to see what Much meant. He was frightfully good at dragging her down into this cyclical conversation. What reason did she have to continue? Tuck did not know of her past, he could not understand. If she was cold it was because she had to be, if she was selfish it's because the world made her that way. Only a very few people had ever manged to create enough cracks in her armor in order to reach for the soft and the warm human inside. It was not for everyone that she displayed such frailty.

"We're here," Tuck announced, handing Shy a satchel containing food and a few good shillings. "We go from house to house handing these out. Perhaps you will learn a little something of kindness."

Shy slung the satchel over her shoulder. "And perhaps I already understand more than you would like to think about the important work you do here."

They made their way into the village, but the sight which greeted them was far from what they had been expecting. All about the village road soldiers garbed in the colors of Lord Foster's household. They went about unarmed and were gathering up the villagers into the square. "We have to leave!" Shy demanded as soon as she spotted them.

Tuck gave her arm a hard tug, urging her to sink down behind the bushes with the others. "No, running will not make them disappear. We wait and see how to react."

"What care I for how to react? If they see me they will capture me!"

"And if you run they will do the same to others," Tuck hissed. "Patience."

Shy fell silent and watched the soldiers mill about through the village. She had not noticed before in her panic just who exactly they were leading out to the square. Women of ages ranging from the very young to those in their prime were standing out in a line before the soldiers. Their hands were not tied and they did not appear to have been lead there under threat of violence. The women and girls stood patiently looking up at the soldiers, some with almost eager faces.

"Single file line," A soldier shouted, "Those who meet the proper requirements will be given the position of serving in Lord Foster's household."

Shy felt the words echo like a clap of thunder. "God defend us," she whispered, "Oh God..."

"What is it?" Much asked the stricken woman.

"Those poor fools, do they not realize? No, no they would not, of course, how could they?" Shy continued to rant to herself without care of being understood. John gave her a slight shake which was enough to bring her back to reality. "Those women, they are not being offered a position in the household. Look, would you consider a child as young as some of those are for the job of a servant? Foster is looking for a slave. He is looking for a slave and those girls are going willingly without knowing!"

"What do we do?" Much asked of Tuck.

"There's too many of the soldiers, we'd be outnumbered if we took a stand openly," Tuck shook his head at the sight. "We need to go back to the camp and get Archer, perhaps if we follow the men back to Nottingham we'd have a greater chance of freeing the women."

"You mean you're just going to let Foster take those girls?" Shy could have shouted if she did not think it would bring the soldiers down around their heads.

"Does that disturb you Shy? The potential suffering of others?"

"This isn't time for your philosophical questions over my morality!" Shy rose to her feet, "I'm going to free them. If you want to stop me..." she charged out of hiding and ran towards the village.

"Shy!" Kate shouted after her.

Tuck laughed, "What are you all waiting for. Go! You heard the woman!"

"That was a trick?" Much exclaimed, drawing his sword and giving chase with the others, "You told us to retreat in hopes she'd do the opposite?"

"A little risk is always necessary."

"You're mad, d'you know that? Stark raving mad!"

Shy was running down the hillside, a shrill scream left her throat in a mocking imitation of a battle cry. The soldiers looked up to see her and the rest of the gang charging after them. "That's the one!" A soldier cried, pointing at her, "That's the one who broke Marcus' arm!"

The soldier who had given the original order for the woman to group out in the square turned his horse about to stare at the intruder. He smiled, "Well, little Shy! My it certainly has been a while."

"Let those girls go!" Shy shouted.

The man laughed, "Pay no attention to her," he told the villagers, "This one's mad. She tried to kill Lord Foster. Stay clear of her."

"They lie," Tuck spoke out, "She stands with me and Robin Hood."

"Arrest them!"

"Run! Get back to your homes, go now!" She roared to the girls, who gave a scream of fright as a skirmish broke out between Foster's guards and Robin Hood's gang. They scattered and headed back towards their homes.

The soldier on horseback struck a glancing blow to Shy's shoulder, momentarily stunning her. He managed to snatch up one of the younger girls and throw her over his saddle. He took off into the forest. Shy chased after him, retreating in time before the other soldiers overwhelmed her. The gang followed her. John grabbed Shy and pulled her off the main path to avoid the arrows that the soldiers had started to shoot at them.

"He's got the girl!" Shy shouted, "He's got the girl, we have to stop him!"

"Stop struggling," John said, "Tuck? What do we do now?"

Panting, Tuck tried to lay out a half concocted plan. "If we hurry we can catch him off guard at the crossroads. He's on his own now, we have a chance."

They took off through the forest path, using trails that were too narrow for the fully armed soldiers to follow. The sound of hoofbeats was not far off, and they kept up with the sound until a clearing came into view and the crossroads diverged the main road running alongside them. The gang split into two groups: Little John, and Much went to the left road and Kate, Tuck, and Shy stayed on the right. As the soldier rode up, they stepped out from the trees, blocking either route.

"Release the child," Shy called out.

"Or what? You'll kill me? Lord Foster will hunt you down for murdering one of his own men, you know that," the soldier spat. His bravado did not last. He was not a fool. He could see he was outnumbered and the rest of his men were busy either catching up or taking care of the mess these outlaws had made in the village. "If you let me pass, I won't tell my lord of your whereabouts, on my honor."

"On your honor is it?" Shy snarled, "Here is what I think of your honor," she unsheathed her dagger and sent it spinning towards the soldier. It lodged itself in the small opening of his armor between his shoulder and neck. The man screamed, his horse reared up in fright at the sound and at the smell of blood. The girl was flung from the saddle, but before she could hit the ground, Little John managed to catch her.

The soldier pulled the dagger out, letting it fall onto the ground. He pressed a hand to the wound, his face distorted in agony. "You little bitch," he hissed at Shy. "When my lord Foster hears of this he will have your head!"

Tuck's club was next to be thrown at the soldier. It connected with the man's head with a resounding crack. His eyes rolled upwards in their sockets and he slipped from the saddle, landing at an angle that snapped his neck, although he was already dead before he hit the ground, killed by Tuck's well-aimed blow. "I was growing tired of him," he said.

Ignoring the body of the soldier, Shy went over to the girl. The child could not have been more than eleven years of age. She was perched up on Little John's shoulders, her hands covering her eyes from the grizzly sight of the fresh corpse. "Hi there," Shy called.

John set the girl back down and she looked up at Shy, she recoiled at the sight of her. "The soldiers said you were mad!"

"Well," Shy knelt down so that she could speak to the girl at eye-level, "Sometimes the soldiers can be wrong. Are you all right?"

The girl nodded, "Yes, I think so."

"That's good. What's your name?"

"Nel. Wh-what were the soldiers going to do to me?"

"Never you mind about that, Nel," Shy said, "They won't bother you ever again. Who do you have back home waiting for you?"

"My mum and dad, and my baby brother," her face crinkled in a smile, "He was looking forward to having our bed all to himself. He's not going to like that I've come back."

Shy laughed, feeling her throat tighten. "I'm sure they'll all be pleased to see you again."

"I'll take her back to her parents," Kate volunteered, coming forward to take the child by the hand.

Nel released Kate for a moment to give Shy a small hug, "Thank you. I didn't really like how those soldiers were treating me. Don't think you're mad at all."

Shy stood awkwardly, her arms half around the child. She patted her upon the back. "There now," she said, "G-g-go on home."

Nel gave them all a wave and she and Kate went back to Locksley together. Shy stood staring off after the child, her eyes closing as she disappeared, fighting back the rush of tears. If only she had been so fortunate herself to have had someone come along and stop the soldiers from picking her out of the marketplace that day in Rotherham. How happier her life! How simpler!

"You see how our actions can shape the lives of others?" Tuck said, standing alongside her. "You are capable of great acts of kindness Shy, I do not think you hate people as much as you say."

"Foster's men will be back," Shy croaked out. "He won't stop."

"What shall be done about that?" Tuck said, this time merely voicing his thoughts aloud.

Shy turned to him, her eyes hard, "You are going to take me to Nottingham. I will be your spy in his camp. I am going to destroy him."

* * *

**A/N: *Insert evil laughter here* **


	29. Parting of Ways

XXIX

Parting of Ways

"What is it, Archer?" Guy asked, seating himself on one of the bunks. His arms were crossed over his chest, a mark of his impatience.

"I want you to take a message back with you to Warwick," Archer said, "You have standing there and a decent reputation. You could persuade this Lord Waleran to give us aid here in Nottingham in order to combat Foster and his men."

Guy gave a short laugh, "I could talk until the very breath dried up in my lungs. Lord Waleran has only just defeated a long-standing enemy. His troops are exhausted, he is exhausted. He will not help you, or a shire many miles from his own land."

"He could organize a tribunal!" Archer tried again. "All we are asking for is ample means to arrest Foster and try him before his fellow noblemen for his crimes. Lord Waleran himself can testify to the atrocities that Shy went through. Would he begrudge his aid to friends in need?"

"You wish to try Foster for his crimes of rape?" Guy asked, the derision falling from his voice as he became interested.

Archer nodded, "It would be the only legitimate way to have him removed as Steward, and it is all according to law, which should please you immensely."

"What exactly would need to be done?"

"We would need a small force for me to infiltrate the keep at Nottingham and arrest Foster. From there we could get him to Warwick where he could be kept safely in a dungeon until word can reach Prince John and his council. The council will not let such a statement go without some investigation. Waleran testifies, I will testify, Shy can face him and give her account herself. She has many allies waiting to stand behind her."

For a moment Guy looked almost hopeful at the idea of a council of the very highest nobles passing judgement on Foster, and the result of a very public and very humiliating punishment, if not execution. But his smirk changed into a frown. "The council would never take the word of a peasant woman seriously," he shook his head, "I'll not have Shy doubted and made to look like a fool."

"Ah, Guy, you are forgetting that very soon Shy will not be a peasant. She'll be a Lady on equal footing with Foster," Archer grinned. "The council will not ignore her word then."

By God, he was right, Guy thought. After Shy married him and took his name she would technically belong to the nobility, making Foster's crimes that much worse when brought to light. Archer was making a point here. Waleran and Gavin would surely lend their assistance in seeing Shy's abuser brought to justice, especially since the same man was in position of harming far more people. It was the perfect revenge. Foster would receive his punishment, he would lose all his good standing and he would be humiliated forever. It would ruin him utterly, he could lose his land, his title, and all his possessions. At the very most there was always the chance the council would find his crimes too horrible to allow him to be given the opportunity to commit them again. He could be executed, and Shy could watch him hang, and since Guy would be instrumental in organizing such a trial it would be as good as killing him himself. It was perfect. Shy would certainly agree to it when she heard of it, how pleased she would be! How relieved to know that, at last, the demon that had haunted her all these years would be reduced to nothing.

"I will speak to Lord Waleran," Guy said, "I do not think he will refuse such an offer. Especially if you are there to tell him yourself."

"You want me to accompany you and Shy back to Warwick?" That had not been his original intention. Archer appeared genuinely stunned at the request.

Guy nodded, "I'm not your messenger. And since you are the one speaking on behalf of Nottingham you should be there. And..." he silenced himself, rethinking his final words.

"And?"

No stopping now. "And you should be there for the wedding," Guy mumbled grudgingly.

"Brother, are you finally admitting we are truly family?" Archer gasped.

"Don't ruin it," Guy grunted, "I wouldn't have asked, but Shy seems to have taken a liking to you."

"Do you think so?" Archer continued in the same mocking voice. "It must be my natural good looks and charm, eh?" He winked. "Perhaps she'll decide to marry me instead, especially if you insist on wearing such a dreadful scowl."

Never one to know how to handle a personal joke, Guy stood up and began to march from the camp, arms still crossed like a petulant child retreating after a light taunting match. Archer laughed boisterously and went after him, "No, no, wait, Guy, I am honored," he said, "Truly. You know I have never been to a wedding?"

"Neither have I," Guy said.

"Really?"

"Well...never a complete one."

"Then this should prove a most educational experience for the both of us!"

Guy rolled his eyes at his jester-like brother. That was most certainly from Robin's side of the family. The roguish wink in Archer's eyes, the inappropriately timed jokes, and the inflated ego—oh, yes, that was definitely Robin.

A whistle sounded from above the canyon. Both Guy and Archer looked up to see where the sound had come from. It was a recognized call used by the members of the gang, so there was no fear of sudden discovery. Tuck, Much, Little John, Kate, and Shy came rushing down into the gorge, out of breath and wild-eyed. To Guy's horror, Shy was clutching his old dagger and he saw blood staining the curve of the steel. Shy was panting and sweating, there was a wicked smile on her lips and she rushed out ahead of the others, the dagger held between her fingers with the deft casualness of one who might have been using it all her life.

"Shy?" Guy caught her about the shoulders, "What happened?" He tried to keep the worry out of his voice, but found that was impossible. She had only just recovered from losing her baby, any strenuous exertion too soon could prove dangerous to her health.

Shy brushed his hands away in such a callous manner, Guy felt hurt at her lack of concern. She walked right up to Archer, bright-eyed and headstrong. "I'll do it," she told him in a clear and sure voice, "I'll be your spy in Foster's keep."

Archer's mouth moved, but no sound emerged for a moment. Tuck explained what had happened in Locksley, how the soldiers had been trying to gather together women for Foster to choose from in order to select a new servant for his keeping; how Shy had taken it upon herself to put a stop to the cruelty, and how she had saved a young girl from sharing her fate. Guy turned on Archer, "This was a trick? You kept me here so that your damned gang could manipulate Shy into conforming to your original plan?"

"No! That was never my intention!" Archer exclaimed.

"Guy, this is my decision," Shy said.

"These men can manipulate any given situation to their advantage. They can twist your own words around to make you think you have reached a decision on your own. Do not play into their schemes!" Guy warned, gripping Shy's arm. He glared at Archer and Tuck, the two ring-leaders, he knew from experience that Tuck was a more than accomplished manipulator. He had even been taken in by him when he had first met him, believing him to be a peaceful man of God, and, like a fool, had thought to gain some amount of salvation from him, that he might truly be able to aid him during his time of deepest crisis. Instead he had used him to get to Robin, and what was more, when he joined the outlaws, Tuck used him as a symbol for Robin's power. This must have been planned, to get Shy alone with the outlaws, to make her think she was capable of fighting alongside them. How dare they think to abuse her in such a way!

"There was no scheme," Shy said, "I realized something after we saved that girl. Foster will only continue to abuse his people, he deserves to be punished, and in order to do that you will need my help."

"Leave us a moment," Guy said quietly, "I wish to speak to Shy...alone." He pulled Shy along with him past the canyon and into the privacy of a grove, far enough away from the outlaws' prying eyes and ears. Once assured of their security, he released her arm.

Shy was not pleased, she tore from his grasp, rubbing where he had pinched her flesh. None of the spoke at first, but Shy could see Guy fighting down a wave of anger. His eyes were dark, and his jaw seemed fix shut, his mouth a single line. He was glaring at her, but Shy was not afraid of such a dark look, for she could see the worry in his eyes and she knew that his anger was not entirely unfounded. She sighed, swallowing her own frustration, "Guy, I realize that this seems very sudden..."

"It seems born of pure insanity!"

"But, you were not there at Locksley. You could not have seen this little child. Guy! The same soldier who was taking her to Nottingham was the very same one who had raped me countless times when I was just as young! I saved that girl! She will never live with the nightmares, she will never fear to go out past her own door, nor will she run from the sight of another man. She has a life, I gave that to her. Do you not see? If I do this, no one else has to suffer ever again."

"No. Archer and I have a new plan. He is to come with us back to Warwick. We are going to get Lord Waleran to organize a council and we are going to arrest Foster. He will be put on trial. He will be found guilty, of that we have no doubt, and he will be punished! You will have your revenge, Shy, I promise you,"

"How do you think you will ever get to Foster? Do you think he will willingly come with you? Do you think he will not know something is wrong the minute you and a half a troop of soldiers show up at his keep to arrest him? You will never catch him unless someone is on the inside, someone who can make sure you can get to him without him ever knowing. And I know him! I can do this!" Shy pounded her fist against her chest, her eyes wide. Could he not see her confidence? She could do something for once, she would not have to run, she could extract her revenge herself and it would be sweet, so sweet, she could already taste it, and the flavor was coursing through her, making her light-headed and giddy.

"No! Have you not heard me. I have told you no!"

"You can not dissuade me, Guy. I am going back to Archer, and I am going to have him take me to Nottingham immediately."

"I forbid it! You are coming home with me and that is final."

"You forbid it? Are you my master now, Guy? Must I come and go at your beck and call?" Shy snapped.

Infuriated with her stubborn refusal, Guy broke down and let his anger get the better of his senses, "Yes! Damn you, it is time you learned obedience, Shy. I have indulged your whims thus far, but do not think that just because I love you I will not treat you as any wife should be treated by her husband. You will do as I say."

Shy was trembling with anger at his words, she fought to keep her voice level, "I know you are angry with me for doing this. I know you do not mean what you have said. I want to go home with you Guy, but I must do this. I need to."

"He will hurt you," Guy said, keeping his voice unbroken for now, "He will rape you."

"I know."

"I will not be there to protect you."

"I can protect myself."

"For God's sake, Shy!" Guy nearly screamed, "Do not make me watch you go through that again! Do you think I don't remember those nights in the slave cart? How Geoffrey would take you? You were like an animal, mad with fear and pain. I watched you writhe under the torment of your nightmares. Do _not_ make me go through that again, Shy. I do not know if you will recover!"

"I can bear it," Shy said softly, "I can bear it one last time. Because I will know I am bringing about his own destruction. I will not break."

"This is intolerable," Guy hissed, "Do you think I can stomach the thought of his hands upon you? Of him touching you, beating you, _inside_ you?"

"Guy, is this out of concern for me, or can you not stand the idea of another man possessing what is yours?" Shy asked.

Guy was shocked at the question. He wanted to tell her of course it was because he worried for her, but he could not deny, that somewhere in him he could feel jealousy bubbling and boiling. Shy was his, by right and by love, the thought of any man so much as looking at her without his permission might be enough to send him into a rage. "But you are mine," he whispered to her, unable to deny it, and hoping she would see in what way he meant it. She was his and he was hers!

Shy backed away, horrified. "How can you say that?"

"Shy, please," he gripped her shoulders, "Do not go to Nottingham. Come home with me. Run, just this last time, run away from Lord Foster and his men and your past. You have a life waiting for you, don't give it up for a false chance at revenge."

"Why would that life be gone if I were to go to Nottingham?"

Guy released her furiously, "No more talk," he growled, pointing at her, "You are coming with me. That is final. I'll not be dictated to. You will see I am only doing what is best for you. In time you will thank me." He turned and walked away, not caring if she should follow.

"Guy!" Shy shouted, "Don't you turn your back on me! Guy!" She let out a shriek of unbridled fury and charged at him, tackling him from behind. They both went rolling down the hillside, Shy pinned him to the ground, pummeling him.

Guy flipped her over and off of him, just as he used to do back in Warwick when they had fought, but only now, this was no mere lesson, and Shy was still coming at him, anger in her eyes, and wounded pride egging her on. Guy felt the world growing redder about him. How dare this slip of a girl be led to tell him what to do. She did not know what was right or wrong now, she was being encouraged by her emotions. She needed to let him take the lead in this situation.

"If you go to Nottingham, do not expect me to be here when you return!" Guy shouted, dodging a punch, doing his best to evade her and unbalance her.

"Good! I would not want a man who would be unwilling to help me when I most needed it!" Shy snarled, nearly tripping as Guy kicked out at her legs.

"Can't you see I'm trying to help you? I don't want you put in danger. I want to protect you!"

"You can not always be there to protect me, Guy, face it! Could you protect me from learning of my father's death? Could you protect me from Lyle's attack? Could you protect me from a miscarriage? I don't want to always be kept safe and shut away! I will be free!"

"Free, reckless, and in constant danger! That is not the life I want for you!" He grunted as she punched him in the stomach, sending him reeling back to the ground. They tussled for a time, but Guy once again managed to throw her off of him.

Exhausted, they both sat back, covered in mud and leaves, both glaring hatred at one another. Shy had tears tracking down her cheeks, tears of fury for Guy's incapacity to understand why she needed to be the one to destroy Foster. Why could he not support her in this? She needed him now, more than ever, and he was pushing her away. The only thing she could do in her wounded state was push back just as hard. She hated this. She hated him at that moment. "I am glad," she panted, "that I am seeing you now for what you truly are. You do not love me. You just want someone to claim as your own, some trinket for your possession."

Guy grabbed Shy by the collar of her dress and nearly lifted her up off her feet. His fist was pulled back and he meant to hit her full on, so blinded with rage was he at her heartless words. Shy laughed chokingly, too blind herself to stop, "Oh go on! Go on strike me down! I know you're good at killing women whom you profess to love!"

The moment those hateful words left her mouth, Shy knew she had gone too far. She covered her mouth with her hand as Guy lowered her back to the ground. The look in his eyes was horrifying to Shy. Guy looked down at at his hands, realizing what he had nearly done to her. He backed away, a small cry torn from his lips. "Guy...oh God, I am sorry," Shy whispered. "I did not mean that, I would never..."

"Go to Nottingham," Guy said, his voice hollow and dead, "Go, I do not care."

"Guy..."

"_Do not speak to me!_" He roared, and Shy saw tears in his eyes, "It is finished." The harsh whispered words in contrast to the broken scream sent a chill down Shy's spine.

"No, no, I-"

Guy held up a hand, his eyes closing momentarily. "Go," he told her again. When Shy did not move he shouted at her, eyes blazing like a serpents, "Go, damn you, before I think to kill you as I did Marian!" As Shy ran away from him, Guy continued to shout at her to run, to get as far from him as possible. When she had gone, Guy fell to his knees, too shocked to cry, and too weak to stand.

Shy ran until she came back to the camp. The outlaws saw her disheveled state and did not know what to think. "Trouble?" Much asked.

"Soldiers?" said Kate.

Shy shook her head, "Take me to Nottingham," she breathed hard, regaining her breath. She looked right at Archer. "Take me there immediately."

"Yes, but...what of Guy?"

Shy felt as if the very name would be enough to bring her to the ground, such was the pain she felt. "It is over," she said, knowing that it was so, they had said and done too many hateful things to ever reconcile. "It is all over."

* * *

Guy remained where Shy had left him. The argument had been carried too far, they never had been any good at learning how to reign in their tempers. He had loved Shy for her passionate and oftentimes, ungovernable behavior. She had never feared him because of it, she had been able to meet him head on and challenge him, it was how he had come to recognize her as a companion worthy of his respect. Now he hated her for it. He would have given the world to have Shy possess the mind of any docile, submissive woman, ready to defer to him. Could she not have let him guide her just this once? Shy's words burned him, more so perhaps because there had even been a hint of validity to them. The desire to keep her safe had clouded his own judgement. Since the miscarriage he had treated her like she was made of glass.

Well, why should he not? Did not all women wish to be provided for? Protected? Kept shielded for the dangers of the world? Desire for revenge had blinded her. Yet, the look of hatred in her eyes as she uttered those final words to him...how pure, how spiteful she had been.

As the haze fell from about him, Guy came back into the world with the understanding that he had broken his engagement to Shy, that all bond between them had been severed at both their hands. The air felt thick in his lungs, he placed a hand over his chest as he struggled to breathe. His old wound throbbed sickeningly, as if the scar had opened and he was bleeding to death once more.

Shy would never forgive him for this, of that he was certain. He had shown himself to be as bad as any master in his possession of her. He had refused his support, he had let her fall. Surely she could never look at him the same way. And he still felt the stabbing pain of her own words. How could she have been so callous as that? How could she have turned his darkest nightmare against him? It was as cruel as if he had taunted her with images of abuse and rape. Then the fear plunged through him: had she often thought of if he would ever be capable of murdering her as he did Marian? Had that fear been in her mind? Had it crossed through the footprints of her thoughts? Is that why it had come so readily to her lips in such a burst of rage and fire? God, he could not fathom that. He thought she had understood his past crimes. Perhaps not...and that was worse than anything that had been spoken.

Guy remained kneeling down, a hand still pressed to his chest as he fought to breath through the pain. When the wave passed, he managed to sit up. He could feel his heart still throb with every beat, it echoed into the red line of the scar on his chest, he could feel the mark burn like a brand against his skin. He almost wished it really would reopen. Had he not lost all hope of a new life? It was easy to give into the urges of self-pity, it was a facet of his personality he indulged frequently. But this time he managed to shake it away.

What was he doing praying for death when he might strive to live and re-earn Shy's respect? There was still time. He could not think of a solution for the problem of Shy going to Nottingham, but let that come after a reconciliation. It might take days, months even, before either of them could see past their own pride, but that was all right, he would wait. He would wait until she was willing to listen to him, and he could speak to her once more.

He rose to his feet and headed off back to the camp. Yes there was anger, fury even, but he loved her, and he knew she would still love him. Perhaps, she was even now thinking the same thoughts as he, and wondering how they could ever be reconciled with one another.

When he reached the canyon, Guy pulled on the secret lever between the rocks. The hidden entrance flipped up and out. He was stunned to only see Much, Little John, and Kate inside. Both of them looked highly uncomfortable to see him.

"Where is Shy?" Guy asked, his voice uncommonly hoarse from screaming.

"She...she went to Nottingham," Kate stammered, "With Archer and Tuck."

"She's gone?" He could not believe it. She had left and had not looked back, she had not even stopped to reflect upon what happened. Could she not have waited at least until his return? Or would the sight of him have proved too unbearable? He placed both hands against one of the wooden posts, leaning forward as he tried to stop his head from spinning. Kate continued speaking beside him.

"Archer said that he would be back and then the two of you would head for Warwick. We're to remain behind, to keep in contact with Shy."

So that was it then? He was a full member of this plan whether he liked it or not, whether he had any real say in what was done? "Guy?" Kate asked, "Shy said you ended the engagement. Is...is that true?"

"Yes," Guy whispered, swallowing down anger and bitter pain, "It's true, it has ended."

* * *

**A/N: Aheh...O_O *Runs* OHGODOHGODPLEASEDON'TKILLMEPLEASEDON'TKILLME!**


	30. Back To Before

XXX

Back to Before

Archer knew Shy was crying quietly as she walked between him and Tuck. She sniffled and rubbed her face onto her sleeve. Her face was red and her eyes puffy and swollen. Her cheek was bruised, he could see the blue puddled pigment splashed against the pale of her skin. Her hair was tangled and she had been pulling twigs and leaves from it moments before. There was still debris from the forest glued to her raven locks, but she had since given up. When she tried to regain her breath it came in hitching gasps, which did nothing to fill her lungs, so she inevitably gave herself away again with another sob in order to breathe.

Tuck said nothing, and Archer was not exactly keen on knowing what had changed in what seemed only a manner of minutes. When Shy had burst back into the camp declaring her engagement to Guy had been called off, he had scarcely believed her, but he had not pressed her, for she was wild in her demands to be taken to Nottingham before her courage failed her, and he knew this would be their only chance. The plan would not have really been complete without a spy in the keep. Shy and Guy must have quarreled, that was all, but as they continued to walk, Archer was forced to realize that Shy was not merely crying out of frustration or anger, but she had the look of a woman suffering from a broken heart. It was a look he knew quite well, he thought sheepishly, had he not plastered that expression upon many an innocent maid's face himself? This was different though, she looked half dead in her soul, and none of the girls he had known had cried half so bitterly. The image was made worse at her reserved pride. The more she gritted her teeth and tried to stifle her tears the more heartbroken she appeared. Now he knew what Guy had been talking about when he told her of how fragile she could be. He could not help but think this break that she and Guy had suffered had been hastily done and in the heat of a furious argument. They loved one another, and as cynical as Archer could be when it came to matters of the heart, he was able to recognize true love when it came before his eyes, and this woman loved his brother as surely as he was alive and breathing now. From the little Archer knew of Guy, he gleaned he was not an easy man to get to know, or work with. Solitary, fierce as a storm in hell, and as temperamental as the very Fiend who ruled in that fiery pit, it was to Shy's credit she had found a way to walk across that burning lake and pull him out of the ashes. Although, seeing her now, Archer guessed Guy had made a very similar hellish journey in gaining her love.

Archer cleared his throat as if to speak words of some advice or comfort to her. Shy turned her head as fast as a viper and glared death at him if he should dare to speak. Archer shrugged and looked away, whistling nervously. Oh, yes, devils, the both of them, no wonder they could fight with fire and love just as heatedly.

They came to Nottingham without event and as they walked to the hill where the tents and wooden keep rose up, Shy at last spoke.

"So, I am to stay in the keep, you will go to Warwick to fetch Lord Waleran and you will bring them back to your camp. I am to find a way to get the guards away from the entrance to let you in."

"You have it," Archer said.

"It sounds simple," Shy chuckled, "How very strange it should sound so simple."

Archer pulled up his hood, "We are going to take you to Lord Foster now, Shy, you know how you must behave."

"I do, I do..." Shy muttered swiftly, almost manically in her concentrated effort to keep her strength up.

Both Archer and Tuck grasped her by either arm. "No, wait!" Shy gasped, "Tuck was seen by some of the men in Locksley, they'll recognize him."

"I'll wait at the town gates, then," Tuck said with a sigh.

"Aye, I'll be back soon. If there's trouble you run," Archer told Tuck who nodded in agreement.

"I'm sorry for this, Shy," Archer whispered to the woman as he drew forth a small length of rope. He bound Shy's hands behind her back, her wrists crossed over one another at an uncomfortable angle.

Shy grunted as the rough rope irritated her wrists, although old marks from previous shackles and bindings dulled the pain enough. "Well, it must be convincing after all..."

Archer marched her out in front of him towards the keep, making sure to give her a few slight shoves to keep up the appearance that she was his prisoner. As they neared the keep entrance, which was merely a wooden gate with an opening at which stood two guards at all times, Archer whispered to Shy, "I know you don't want to hear this now, but Shy, in the event that this does not work, if Foster should call our bluff, you should know that I believe, no matter what Guy may have said to you, I believe my brother truly does..."

"You are right, Archer, I do not wish to hear anything else you have to say to me," Shy interrupted. She heard Archer sigh at her stubbornness, but it was not merely pride which barred her from listening further, it was only pain.

The guards blocked the entrance into the keep by crossing their spears. "Halt," one cried, "Where do you think you're going?"

"Prisoner for Lord Foster," Archer grumbled, changing his accent and masking his voice. "This is the one who attacked those soldiers down in Locksley Village, did ya not hear?"

The guards exchanged glances with one another, clearly the patrol that had been set out had, indeed returned. They side stepped backed to their respective posts. "Go through."

"Thank ya," Archer muttered, bowing a little.

"Don't overdo it!" Shy hissed.

"This isn't my first dance, let me tell you," Archer whispered giving her a little kick, partially for show and partially to get her to be quiet.

Shy stumbled forward, nearly tripping over herself. The grounds of the keep were not overly extensive. There was a stable yard, barracks, and tents for servants, soldiers, and a rather grand one which Shy imagined was for Lord Foster and Lady Thea. The constructed stables and barracks were crude, but suitable. The walls around them were high enough, and had ledges for soldiers to walk upon and man just as any stone battlement. It was a working fortress, a busy and thriving center. Not far off, she could see men attending to the construction of the Castle. She could not see Lord Foster anywhere, then...then she saw him emerge from his tent.

Archer headed over to him. Shy tried to will her feet to carry her forward, but instinctively she tried to run away. Archer prevented her, he pushed her onward and Shy found that her struggles were less of an act and more of a reality. "My lord!" Archer called as he approached, and Shy felt bile rush fast and hot to her throat as Foster turned to look at him.

"What is the meaning of this?" Lord Foster asked sternly. His eyebrow was raised as he looked down at Shy. He recognized her right off, but he kept his manner aloof, but there was a smile on the corner of his lips.

"My lord, pardon, but there was an attack in the village of Locksley this afternoon while your soldiers were there. This little wench," he gave the rope a tug, "was the ringleader of it. I, an' the other villagers, have been hunting her half the day and only just managed to catch her fleeing for her life. I figured it best to bring her here, my lord, for punishment."

"I had heard of the attack from my men, one of my captains was killed in that little skirmish, no doubt thanks to your friend here," Lord Foster nodded, "You did well in bringing her to me. I shall see she is properly tried and punished according to law. You may go with my thanks."

Archer bowed again, "Thank ya, my lord, I'm sure you'll make sure the wench doesn't bother our village ever again." Archer rose up and gave Shy a barely perceptible nod. His eyes were filled with worry and he seemed to be giving her a silent good luck. He turned to go, feeling as if he might be sick. He had just handed over a woman to be raped, he knew it, and while Shy knew the risks, it was he who would live with the consequences.

As Shy watched him go she felt a tug on the rope, and it was less then gentle as Archer's had been. She went flying backwards, landing on her back. She looked up at Lord Foster as he rewound the rope in his hands. "I do recall," he said casually, as if speaking to anyone, "selling a young girl to a known slave trader, I heard he was of some renown in his trade. I did figure he would have fetched a fine price off of this girl, reckless trouble-maker that she was. Pray tell, my dear, do you think such a little girl could escape such a man?"

Shy willed her voice into her throat, she willed air into her lungs and she willed her jaw to open so that she might speak to her hated enemy, "I do."

Foster suddenly leaned down and slapped her across the face. "You do...what?"

"I do..._my lord_." She spat.

Foster laughed and pinched Shy's cheeks together, examining her features, "Oh, Shy, how I did _miss_ you. You know I did regret selling you, but you really left me no choice. You always had that spirit I never did manage to break. It seems only natural we should have found one another again. Perhaps we are fated to be together, eh? Well, I'll keep you for a time, but you will have to go one way or another. No sense in leaving my neck so exposed for your pretty little hands to grasp again, him?" He pinched her wrists.

Shy spat in his face. The humor died from Foster's eye. He pulled Shy upright and grasped her by the throat so that she gagged was forced onto her tiptoes in order to remain at his height. "I am so glad you have come home again, Shy," he whispered in her ear, "And later I will be able to show you just how glad I am."

"You!" Foster shouted to a soldier nearest him, "Take her to the barracks. A present for the men." He delighted in the expression of pure terror in Shy's eyes as she was dragged away.

* * *

The men were toasting her. Their tankards clanked together, their contents sloshing out onto the dirt floor. She was Shy, their goddess divine, their darling little fairy, their squealing siren, their lost dear girl returned to them. True, for a time there had been others, but Foster had grown bored with them all rather quickly and they had all met very timely ends. It had not been too long since Shy had been sold away, the men joked that the master had been heartbroken when she had gone.

As each new troop of men who had been placed on break for a few moments rest entered the barracks to see her, new toasts were raised and more lewd jokes were made. Shy was slumped in her bonds, attached to one of the bunks. Her legs were spread and her dress crumpled and wrinkled from many hands grappling for a hold. An hour may have passed, two, or three, she could not be sure. Her mind was drifting in a haze, she felt outside of herself, looking down on this scene. The pain she felt was not her pain, but another's. Here in the ether she was completely safe and free from these men. Here she could reflect on how sweet it was all going to be when she had them all within her grasp and they were as chained and helpless as she. Yes, let them hurt her and mock her now, she had them all in her power, and what a comfort that was, what a joy. No, none had dared crossed the boundary from abuse to rape, but the bruises still remained. No, no, float away in the ether, sink into the dark of space, think about revenge—think of the revenge only. Her mind played about in the freedom of her open imagination, but eventually it coiled into a single figure: Guy. It was impossible not to think of him, even though she felt her heart break at the very thought of his name. But in this non-state, it was only his image that mattered. She held it to her as if she was holding him to her after a nightmare, and then he truly was. She could feel his arms about her, cradling her. She closed her eyes and gave into the vision. It was calming and it nullified the trauma she had gone through to the point of clearing her head back to reality. She swayed in her bonds as if to match the rhythm of the steady rocking motion she felt as he held her.

Her eyes snapped open, the arms about her were real and the rocking motion was true! She was even free of her bonds. She shifted about in the arms of the man and looked down at her wrists. Free? In her dazed state she could not see how this could have happened. Then she noticed she was no longer in the barracks, but in a tent, a white and clean tent. She must have passed out. Someone hushed her and stroked her head. She dared to turn her head a little to look at the man who had spirited her away. Immediately her face crumpled into tears and her voice shook with sobs, "Brennan!" and she cried and cried as a child would, swinging her arms up and about him.

The man only continued to hush her, his arms trembling as he held her. He was a sweet faced young man, with dark blond hair easily mistaken for brown. His eyes were hazel which portrayed a look of perpetual innocence. It seemed woefully out of place, for his figure was that of a warrior, and he was of strong, stocky build.

"How," he cried, "how can this be? I thought you carried over with the slaver. I prayed you were free, God, how I prayed, but..."

This time Shy hushed him, "I am free," she told him, "Here, help me to sit up."

Brennan did so. She had been lying on a comfortable pallet and he had been sitting beside her. Shy let her hands fold over the blanket at her lap. She thought she would launch into her story of how she was really a spy for Robin Hood's gang, but a rush of emotion prevented her. She laid a hand upon Brennan's cheek, as if unable to believe he was sitting before her. "Oh, Brennan," she sighed, "I thought I would never see you again."

"I wish you never did."

"Brennan, the last we met I...I accused you of...I..God, forgive me! Brennan, I know you would have never-"

Brennan shook his head, "I know," he said, "Can you ever forgive me?"

"I have!" Shy gasped, "I have completely!"

He hugged her tighter, "Shy..." he exhaled her name in a breath of hope, "I did miss you."

"Brennan, listen to me. This is not like before. I am not a slave for Foster again. Can I trust you?" Shy asked.

"Of course!"

"I am a spy for Robin Hood," she whispered, "his men will arrive in a few days to arrest Foster. You see? I did find my freedom. Your prayers were not in vain."

Brennan absorbed this information with a stunned expression. His lips cracked into a smile and then he even managed a laugh. "You are free? And one of Robin Hood's men? Shy is this true?"

Shy nodded, "All of it."

Brennan laughed and kissed her cheek. "Free," he repeated, "you are free."

She felt her heart leap as he kissed her. He looked at her, his sweet expression always managed to tug at her core. He brushed the hair away from her eyes and gave her forehead a kiss. It was light and Shy could see in his eyes how he was still marveling at holding her and speaking with her. He kissed her face again, this time he made his way down to her lips. Heat coursed through her cold body. Damned with the men who had had her, they were nothing, she fathomed she could not fear them. Brennan's kiss was familiar and it was a touch she had not had in such a long time. She pulled him to her and opened to him. His lingering kiss was sending her into oblivion, she could feel his tongue gently stroking her own as he licked and sucked and tangled with her.

"No!" Shy suddenly shouted, pushing him off of her, "Oh, God what have I done?"

"Was...was it too much?" Brennan hesitated, still breathing hard.

"No, Brennan, no it is not that," Shy pressed a hand to her swollen lips. "It is only...I have...in the time that has passed...that is..."

"You...you no longer have feelings for me," Brennan finished, nodding his head, his eyes lowered. He could understand, it had been a long time and she had had time on her own to think of her heart as she would wish to.

"I love another," Shy bluntly corrected, unable to stop herself.

This had a far stronger effect on the poor knight. His head shot up and he stared at her, aghast. He tried to recover as quickly as he could, he nodded his head from time to time, his eyes shifting and his breath coming in short gasps. "I'm so sorry," Shy whispered, not knowing what else to say.

"What is his name?" Brennan said slowly and with a hint of dark jealousy.

Must he make her say it? The name broke her heart. Was he even truly her love anymore? There was no more future in that name, it was a dead name, but how her heart still clung to it. No, engagement or no engagement, requited or not, she still loved him. She had never loved any man in such a way, not even the sweet knight who hovered near her now with such attentive kindness, who was a very saint among men, whose face still made her wish to fold willingly into his arms, and whose very presence could calm the most frightened creature. It was not enough, though, "Sir Guy of Gisborne," she said, every letter was a caress, and her eyes seemed to brighten as she said the name, it left her with a tear, as if pulled from her soul.

"Guy of Gisborne?" Brennan repeated, horrified, "The murderer?"

"How do I explain?" Shy said under her breath, "How can I hope to?" She wrung the blanket in her hands, her face crinkling as she tried to fight down tears. "He is more than what the rumors say."

"Those rumors claim he took the life of an innocent woman, Shy!" Brennan held her, "What demons have you been kept with?"

Shy gave him a little push, "Stop that. Don't you speak of the Devil and Guy in the same breath. Don't you dare."

Brennan had a desire to push the subject further, but he saw how distressed she became over it and so he thought it best to leave it for another time. She was exhausted, and had been through a trauma. Although, she did not shake and tremble as she used to do. She did not have the haunted look in her eyes and the perpetual despair, like she did before. Her demeanor was as calm as she could keep it, and in her eyes he saw defiance gleaming like a burning brand, and a strength which could have fooled him into believing she was untouched at what had happened to her in the barracks. Something had changed since he had last seen her. She was no longer helpless, she no longer carried herself like a slave.

Shy hunched over, "You will have to take me back to the barracks. Whoever has ownership over this tent will return."

Here Brennan only managed a thin smile. "This is my tent."

"Pardon?"

"When Lord Foster was given the stewardship he received more men. I'm no longer merely a lieutenant. I'm _the_ captain. These are my personal quarters until the Castle is constructed. And as captain of Foster's guard, I'm fairly certain I'm allowed to have any woman I want without rousing temperament from the soldiers, or displeasure from my lord. So, Shy, for as long as you are here you shall remain under my care."

"Brennan, you must stop putting me in your debt," Shy told him, taking his hand in hers.

He patted her hand, a sad smile on his face, "I never wanted you to be in my debt, Shy," he whispered. The words left unspoken hung about them like a thick layer of smoke, suffocating them both. Brennan rose to his feet. "I had better go and attend to Lord Foster, stay here, no one will disturb you. You should rest."

"Brennan," Shy called as he reached for the tent flap, "Why did you never leave Foster? You are a good man, how can you stand it?"

"We all have our reasons, Shy," Brennan said enigmatically, "Oh, and if you should rendezvous with Robin's men, tell them I am willing to help with anything," and he left her.

Shy sighed, watching the flap of the tent gently swing back down, concealing her from sight. She hunkered down upon the pallet, it was warm and soft and she was grateful beyond words to be given the opportunity of rest. With Brennan as a confirmed ally, things would be much easier in Nottingham. Now she would not have to contend with the other soldiers. Good, so that was one trial over and done with. The only man left to concern herself with was Lord Foster, and no matter how vigilant Brennan was in his protection, there was no protection from him, and he would come for her of that he was certain. Shy steeled her mind for the inevitable while she allowed her body to rest.

* * *

**A/N: And the mysterious Brennan finally makes his appearance! Sorry for the delay in updates, last week was mid-term week, but now I should have a bit more free time. The next chapter should be up soon. You'll see how Guy is handling (or rather...not handling) the new situation in the next chapter. Do leave a review if you wish!**


	31. Inertia

XXXI

Inertia

Guy rushed out of the camp as soon as Archer and Tuck returned. He had achieved a modicum of peace while he waited for their arrival, but as soon as he laid eyes on his brother, all chance for peace was lost. He punched him full on, and Archer went tumbling over himself. He did not try to rise or to defend himself. Guy stood over him, panting, eyes wild. "This is your fault!" He shouted, "You and all of your damned gang. Why? Why did you have to put such an idea into Shy's head? Why did you force her into this? Couldn't you have left well enough alone?Couldn't you have let us be?"

"I did not force her," Archer said, as he rose finally, seeing that Guy had no intention of carrying the fight further. "I never thought she would agree. I thought only to get her to help us, to get her to take an interest. By God, Guy, surely you know as well as I do that there is no convincing that woman to do anything she does not wish to do. I could not have forced her one way or the other, and neither could you!"

Guy winced at his brother's words, but he looked far from repentant over his actions. Archer sighed, shaking his head, "The sooner we make for Warwick, the sooner Shy is out of Foster's keeping. Come. We need to ready ourselves to leave."

Guy shuddered at the idea of Shy under Foster's keeping once again. How often had she mentioned that man's name only to tremble and nearly make herself ill with fear. She'd be alone, left to the devices of that sadistic man and the rest of his guards. He could hear the echo of Shy's scream after she had awoken from her nightmare. It was as if she had half expected those demons from her past to spring up out of the very darkness and ensnare her. He tensed, how he wanted to kill them. Now Shy was out of his protection, perhaps for good-he would not think of that. He would not think of the harsh words they had said to another and how they had parted ways unreconciled and bitter. He could still help her, and he would, even if she never returned to him.

It was all arranged. Tuck, Kate, John, and Much would stay behind as contacts for Shy while Archer left with Guy for Warwick. The journey itself should only take a week, a little more if convincing was necessary on Lord Waleran's part.

"But what if Lord Waleran does not decide to help us?" Much asked as Archer finished explaining the plan.

"Then when we return we will have to plan a rescue, won't we?" Archer snapped, not feeling like giving into pessimistic views at the moment.

"Yes, and Shy will have suffered for nothing," Guy was quick to remind Archer, who shot him a glare strong enough to rival that of Guy's.

"Well, we will just have to make sure that that does not happen," Archer hissed. "And if your friends are as loyal as you say they are, they will not want that either."

Guy scowled, having meant nothing by his statement other than to further his already dark mood. If Lord Waleran and Sir Gavin did not give them aid he would be greatly surprised, and if they truly did not, then Guy was certain Lady Adela would make them both see sense in order to help her friend.

Archer and Guy left the camp on foot, leaving the horse behind for the other members of the gang to use. It was pointless to travel with one on horseback and one on foot, they would still get their in the same amount of time if they had both walked. The horse could be put to better use to convey messages back and forth between Shy and the gang. Archer looked over at Guy, sullen, and quick in his step, eager to get to Warwick as fast as possible. It was going to be a long trip.

* * *

Archer had been busy seeing to the room at the inn they had stopped at for the night. Guy had insisted on traveling through the night, but Archer had to reign him in. It would be useless if they were to both get themselves killed over Guy's mania. Guy had come with him inside reluctantly. Archer supposed Guy would pay him back for exercising his leadership over him later, he just did not count on it being so soon.

Archer came down the stairs into the tavern, Guy had been waiting for him by a table in the corner, closest to the fireplace. He was nursing a bottle of wine and Archer was astonished to find two empty ones already on the table. The man had certainly been keen on sending himself off into an oblivion. Archer plucked the near empty bottle out of his brother's hands, "I think you've had enough, Guy," he said.

Guy grabbed for the wine bottle, tearing it free from Archer's hands. He regarded him with a glare as Archer sat down in a seat across from him. "I haven't had nearly enough," he grunted. His voice was only beginning to slur, but he was still conscious enough yet of his mind.

"You are going to regret this when you have to wake early," Archer muttered.

"That is not likely," Guy said taking another swig of the wine. "I'll be able to march."

Archer sighed, stretching out his legs under the table, "Is there a point to all this, Guy, or are you merely enjoying wallowing in self-pity? You are rather skilled at that."

Guy slammed the now empty bottle onto the table, "Did it ever occur to you that at this very moment Shy is likely in Lord Foster's bed and enduring the Devil knows what?"

"Aye, she knew the risks when she agreed to the job," Archer said, swallowing back his own guilt yet again at the despairing expression on Guy's face.

"She gets nightmares when she sleeps," Guy said, his voice growing heavy, "but she was getting better. She was healing...all that is finished now. She will never recover from this. It will kill her."

"You have very little faith in the woman. I think she is far stronger than that, and you do as well, Guy, that is the wine speaking," Archer said.

"I should have forced her to come back with us to Warwick," Guy mumbled, "I should have forced her to marry me, give up her damn willful ways and her damn loyalty to the King."

Archer raised an eyebrow. "Who exactly are we talking about here?"

"It's not my fault. She could always twist her words around until I did not know what she meant. If she had only loved me! If I had only not been so weak as to want her to love me I would have forced her to the church. We should have been married, and she would be alive now!"

"Marian?" Archer surmised.

"Marian," Guy repeated in a choked voice. "Every night I see her die again and every time...every time I swear I dropped the sword!"

Archer stood up and hauled Guy to his feet, supporting his drunken frame. "Come on," he said, "best get you to bed while you can still walk."

Guy dragged himself up the stairs, unable to keep himself fully balanced. Once in their rooms Guy stood in a daze, unsure of where he was or what he was supposed to do. "She haunts me you know," Guy said to Archer, he pointed to a corner of the room. "See her there? She's watching me, running me mad! Wipe that grin from your face you witch! I'll not go mad to satisfy you! Lord knows you did nothing for me!"

"Guy, Marian has been dead for some time now," Archer said, pulling Guy away from his hallucination. "And we were speaking of Shy before, were we not?"

"Shy?" Guy muttered the word in confusion, blinking as if the two women were now both haunting him at once.

"Yes, and she is very much alive."

"No. No she is not. I killed her!"

"You have confused them," Archer said, "Shy is alive and waiting for us to return from Warwick. You will see her again."

Guy laughed, a cringing, haunting sound. "I nearly killed her in the fight. I had her by the collar and I went to strike her. I thought for an instant that I had my sword in my hand, but no...no...she tempted me to it, she can be so like Marian at times. I think she is my punishment, I think she was sent by God to torment me. Oh no, Archer, she'll not have me again. She's dead in all but deed to me now."

"Gisborne you are pathetic," Archer said, taking a seat in a chair. He kicked up his legs so that they dangled over one of the armrests. He watched his drunken brother sway on his feet as he turned to face him. Eventually he lost all coordination and slumped down on the edge of one of the beds. His head was down, as if he lacked the strength to raise it, his black hair covered his eyes, but Archer could see the wrinkles on his brow as his face contorted in a frown. "From all that I was told about you from my gang of how you were before I met you, I half re-imagined you a bloody tyrant. A bully with neither conscience nor care. By God, how wrong I was! You are nothing more than a love-sick dog. I'm quite glad I've never been in love now, I always knew it to be a useless thing."

"You've never once missed your parents, then?" Guy asked mockingly with a low growl in his voice. "Never cried for them in the night when you were a child?"

Archer twitched, "Never."

"A girl then?" Guy tried again, "Never loved a woman who barely took note of your existence?"

"Hah, let me tell you, brother, I've _loved_ many women in my time. And the only one left with a broken heart was them!" Archer chortled.

Guy raised his head a fraction of an inch. There was a dull smirk on his face, a look a grown man might give to a child. "You know there is no shame in wanting love? It took me a damnably long time to realize that."

Archer snorted, "I don't know about that. I'm pretty ashamed of you right now."

"Oh, you would not be the first," Guy said softly.

Archer squirmed about uncomfortably for a moment before addressing Guy once more, "You know...you're quick to judge Shy's feelings for you. When we were going to Nottingham she was crying, Near breaking her heart over you."

"How would you know what a broken heart looked like?" Guy snarled. The image of Shy sobbing floating up to the forefront of his mind.

"Did I not just say I have left a veritable graveyard of broken hearts behind me?" Archer countered. He cleared his throat, dropping his humorous tone. He looked at his brother seriously, "She loves you, Guy, lord knows why, but she does. So when we return to Nottingham you two can carrying on with your pathetic lives together."

Guy did not continue the conversation. He slumped over onto the bed, making it appear as if he he had fallen into a wine-induced slumber. He heard Archer grumble a string of curses at this and kick around, no doubt soon to make his way to bed himself. Guy lay with his eyes half open, staring out the opposite window of the inn, away from Archer. He hated to admit it, but his brother's words had caused a schism of doubt in him. Shy had been crying for him? She did wish to make amends then? She did still love him? The alcohol in him prevented him from carrying these thoughts further to a point. He drifted off to sleep with the comforting thought that he still had Shy's love.

* * *

Shy awoke with a scream. She choked upon it as a hand quickly covered her mouth. She struggled for a moment before she realized it was only Brennan trying to keep her still. She went silent and he released her. She lay back against the pallet panting for breath. "Nightmares?" Brennan whispered.

If only it had been so simple as a nightmare. Shy could not speak, she rolled over onto her back and stared upwards at the roof of the tent. She had dreamt of Guy, that she had never gone back to Nottingham and had gone back to Warwick with him. She was happy, more happy than she had ever been in life. They had been out in a field, walking with one another and chattering in their usual way. His hand had been in hers, and Shy swore she could still feel the imprints of his fingers interlocked with her own. The sky had suddenly grown dark and Shy had heard the distant sound of thunder. They were making for home to get away from the oncoming storm. Laughing, she had darted away from him, running through the tall grass towards the manor she had envisioned as their own. She heard him behind her, laughing in that soft, amused tone he always had. Shy had opened the door and entered, only to find that it was not her home, it was the manor-house of Lord Foster. Foster had lunged for her and Shy had tried to fight him off. She tried to scream, but could not. She called for Guy, shouted for him. He had only been right behind her! Should he not hear her screaming? Fending off Foster, Shy ran out of the house. The sky was so dark it was a wonder she was able to see anything at all. Then she saw him: Guy was lying in a pool of his own blood, the wound that she had long ago healed had reopened. He was choking on his blood, she saw some spill from the corner of his mouth. Shy could not move, could not find a way to get to him. He tried to say her name, his hand moved to reach for her, but then it fell and Guy ceased to move. That was when she had woken screaming.

She clutched the corners of the blanket furiously. She was filled with such a need for Guy, a desire to see him, just to assure herself that he was well, that he was alive! She could have cried with frustration. Brennan's hands moved up and down her arms. He hushed her, as he always used to do when she would wake with nightmares, only now there was nothing could be done to soothe her. Shy tried to move away, out of his reach. Eventually she rose and moved from the pallet to an isolated corner of the tent.

"Shy?" Brennan sat up watching the shadowy figure make a nest for herself upon the unforgiving ground. "Shy, come back to bed."

"I can not, Brennan," Shy said in a weak monotone.

"It was only a dream. It will not last. Come, lie here with me, the fear will pass, it always does."

"No, Brennan, I cannot lie with you. This is not like when we were back in Rotherham. You can not expect me to lie beside you with an easy conscience."

There was silence from the man for a moment before he tried once more, "Would this Gisborne of yours rather you sleep on the cold ground, or would he rather you be comforted by a friend?"

Shy laughed with a choking sound, "You do not know Guy. He can be a most perverse and irrationally jealous man." But oh what she would give to have him come storming into the camp at that very moment, demanding she be returned to him, demanding she be set free. Even his anger would be a comfort now. She thought of the dream once more and shuddered—just to know he was alive and well.

"I am speaking to you as a friend, Shy," Brennan said, "Are not friends supposed to concern themselves with their well-being. Are they not supposed to take comfort from one another?"

"Oh, Brennan, we were never friends," Shy whispered.

"Shy if you remind me of what we once were I will go mad," Brennan said, brutally calm, "Let us carry on with lies. Please, Shy."

Shy felt her heart grow heavy with compassion for Brennan's plea. She could not deny that she had never fully stopped caring for him. It would have been impossible, but the love she felt for him now was not the same, nor would it ever be. But she gave in, and went back to the pallet and stretched herself out upon it. Brennan chastely took her hand in his own. "See? We shall be friends yet," he said, but the tone echoed in Shy's ears like a mocking strike.

Brennan did not hold her. He merely let his fingers gently stroke across her own. Shy felt her eyelids droop reluctantly. The feather-soft strokes of Brennan's hand over her own turned out to be comfort enough. She managed a small smile, so he was still her foolish and gentle knight, his selflessness always did astound her, even if she could never understand it. She would never have been able to lie casually with the man she loved if that love was unrequited. How calm Brennan seemed, how capable of allowing his own jealousy to drain from him in order to soothe her first. She had a sudden urge to take his hand and kiss it for gratitude, but that action would not be well received, and she had no desire to cause Brennan further pain or give him false hope. She drifted back to sleep.

It felt as if she had merely blinked before she awoke again, this time to the light of morning. Shy rolled over and sat up, only to discover that Brennan was no were to be seen. She pushed the blanket off of her and a small piece of parchment blew up in the draft, falling upon the ground. Shy picked it up. It was a note from Brennan. He had gone out to oversee the construction efforts and he would not be back until evening. She was advised to keep herself in the tent. Normally, Shy would have heeded the advice, the moment she left the tent she was fair game for any soldier who happened to be loitering.

Lord Foster would be out as well, and while he had not sent for her yet, Shy knew it was only a matter of time. Foster loved letting fear linger on in his victims, suspense sometimes providing a unique form of agony. A long time ago, he had delighted in Shy's mad fear. He'd play tricks and make it sound as if he was coming for her only to turn away at the last minute, leaving her sobbing and quivering at the slightest rattling of the breeze against the doors. But she had been a child then, and alone. That trick would not work on her now, and she had to get outside to see what was going on, and to be on hand if the gang had a message for her.

She pushed back the tent flap and shielded her eyes from the sun. The entire keep was busy, and the only idle soldiers were those on the wooden battlements guarding the fort. No one had time to concern themselves with her, and there was no escape from the fortress without running into one of the soldiers, she was effectively trapped, but Shy had no intention of going anywhere. She walked the grounds of the fort. There was one way in and out, and there were always two soldiers at the entrance. Five guards stood at the battlements, keeping watch. Shy surmised they worked in shifts and not a minute went by that it was unguarded as well. If the outlaws wanted to get in, they'd have to disguise themselves as men bringing in supplies for the day. Shy supposed it would be an easy task for the likes of them, but how to disguise an entire troop of soldiers? A question for another time.

Shy winced as a small pebbled bounced off her head. She rubbed at the offended area and looked around for the source. A figure in a hood stood nearby. It gave a wave. Wary, Shy approached tentatively.

"What do you-"

"Not here! Can we go someplace less...exposed to talk?" That was Kate's brash voice, Shy would recognize that accent anywhere. She grabbed her by the arm and led her over to Brennan's tent. Once inside Kate dropped her hood.

"How did you get here?" Shy hissed.

"Snuck in with the supply wagon," Kate said with a grin, "The others are back at the camp, we drew lots to see who'd be the one to check in on you."

"And you came up short, I take it?" Shy snorted. "I don't know why you came. It's too early for me to tell you anything."

"Didn't come just for that, came to give you something," Kate said.

"What's that?"

"Here," Kate tossed the object in question to Shy, who caught it at the last minute.

Shy looked down at the sheathed dagger in her hand. It was the one Guy had given her, she must have left it back at the camp after the fight in Locksley. She clutched it tightly, feeling her throat grow hot and dry. "Thank you," she managed to utter as she slipped the dagger up the sleeve of her dress.

Kate shrugged, "Have to have some protection."

Shy nodded, not truly listening. She sniffed and looked back to Kate. "There is something you should know. I have a friend here, Sir Brennan, he's the captain of Foster's guard and he's pledged his aid to us."

Kate raised an eyebrow. "Can you trust him?"

"I would trust that man with my life," Shy said fiercely.

"Really?" Kate drawled. "I thought you said all the men Foster kept were all as wicked as he was?"

"Brennan is different. If you can not contact me you can send for him."

"How do you know this Brennan?" Kate asked.

Shy scowled, sensing the woman was fishing for answers that did not necessarily pertain to the solution of her mission. She turned away. "Thank you for bringing me my dagger, you should leave before anything happens."

Kate took Shy's defensive stance as a suspicious sign. "All right, Tuck will be back to speak with you in a few days. You should know the number of soldiers stationed and any possible entrances into the keep by then. Good luck."

Shy merely grunted as she heard Kate leave the tent. What an upstart, young hussy! It was not enough she was risking her life, but now her own loyalty was being called into question? How could she expect Kate to understand her relationship with Brennan? The woman was so bitter towards Guy that anyone who associated themselves with him must therefore be worthy of scorn as well. She must be quite delighted with the idea she was betraying him. Well if that girl meddled it would be to her own misfortune.

Shy stepped outside of the tent, seeking to get some air before mid-afternoon, when too many soldiers would be heading towards the barracks and it would no longer be safe to be outside and unattended. She kept close to the tents and mostly out of sight, having learned from her life in Foster's manor, how to walk about unseen. For a time all was quiet save for the work from the Castle site. Shy was about to turn back towards Brennan's tent when she gave a gasp of fright as a hand descended upon her shoulder.

* * *

**A/N: And the angst continues! :) I'm currently writing the next chapter so that should be up soon. Hope you are enjoying the story! Do leave a review! **


	32. Timing

XXXII

Timing

When Kate arrived back at the camp she was pelted with questions from the remainder of the gang. She was not pleased to be the bearer of tidings from a woman she hardly trusted. She knew that the gang's concern did not stem so much from personal curiosity as it did from the sheer need of knowing any information Shy could have gleaned already from Lord Foster. Kate had to admit that she was jealous at having been overlooked for the role of the spy, after all was she not a more capable fighter than Shy? She was a true member of Robin Hood's gang, not some foolish girl looking for a way to better her position in life. Sense came after the momentary thoughts of spite had left Kate, this was not a time for jealousy. This was not about Shy, nor was it about her own self. This was for Nottingham, and if they could use the little hussy than all the better.

"Well?" Tuck asked, "I asked you how Shy was?"

Kate shook her head, Tuck's question must have gone right past her. "She's fine," she said in a quipped tone. "Too soon to have anything of value to tell us, but she's fine."

"Good, we should keep in contact with her as often as we can..."

"But not too often," Kate interrupted, "I had hard enough time getting in as it was, and I don't want to make so many frequent visits that the guards start to recognize us. Then we'd really be in for it."

"We have to keep communication as open as possible," Tuck stated firmly. "If not just for information, but to asses the danger for Shy. I do not think Archer or Guy would be pleased if they were to return only to discover that we had let Shy get herself killed by our own negligence."

Kate scowled, "What do I care for what that monster thinks? As far as I'm concerned Shy knew the risks."

"Are you saying this out of true spite for the woman or simply because she has chosen her friends in a direction you disapprove of?" Tuck asked in a calm tone. "Just because she is Guy's betrothed, does not make Shy any less of a human being, Kate, and she is our responsibility."

Kate felt needles race down her spine at the feeling of being reprimanded. She knew what she was thinking was wrong, but it could not be helped. How good or honest could a woman be if she chose to ally herself with a man like Gisborne? If she had accepted him, loved him even, despite the stain of all his past crimes, how could such a woman hold her head high in any decent company? Unless she did not care for the goodness of mankind, in which case, Kate rested her case that Shy must be just as despicable as her lover. Then she remembered: "But she has a protector within the keep!"

"Pardon?"

"Shy told me she had a friend, a Sir Brennan. The captain of Foster's guard, if you can fathom it after all she told us of the men under Foster. She said we could trust him and any information we can give to her we can give to him as well."

Tuck pursed his lips in thought, idly tapping his club upon the ground, "That will prove useful, indeed, and she swears to this man's honesty?"

Kate smiled, "She says she would trust him with her life, I think this Sir Brennan must be very loyal to her to make Shy say such a thing."

"A fortunate thing, for the both of us."

"I wonder what would make such a man so loyal to her?" Kate seemed to muse innocently allowed. "She was certainly insulted when I took to questioning her about him."

"I sincerely hope, Kate, you are not casting shadows over Shy's reputation."

"Why would I doubt the reputation of a woman we only just met, who we know is loyal to Gisborne, and doesn't care if we're damned or saved?" Kate's words were minced by her sharp tongue. "Certainly no reason for me to go about doubting a woman like that, now is there?"

"That is enough," Tuck snapped, "Shall you continue to slander those who are not here to defend themselves?"

Kate turned violently, her hands clenched at her sides. Tuck called out after her, "Where are you going?"

"To get...more firewood!" Kate fired back with a weak retort as she abandoned the camp to the solitude of the forest.

She did not walk very far. She stopped and leaned back against the trunk of a tree, her arms crossed over her chest. She gave a jerking kick at some of the fallen leaves around her, they exploded in a sudden burst of red and green and then fell lifeless once more. She breathed in deeply in an attempt to calm herself, but as she exhaled she found herself sobbing without understanding and without meaning.

"Kate," A gentle voice called to her.

Kate turned her head away in shame as she covered her face, "Oh, go away Much! Just go away!"

The stubborn man would not budge. He fidgeted from one foot to the other, but he held his ground. "I'm not going anywhere," he said, forcing a bit of confidence in his voice. He stood opposite her, silently waiting for her to stop crying. With an audience to her hysterics, Kate soon managed to silence her tears.

She looked at Much with a mixture of humiliation and fury, "It's not fair," she sniffed, "How can Robin be dead while _he_ gets to live? After everything he's done? And you all...you all just _welcomed_ him back as if it was a miracle instead of the curse it actually is, as if you all had just forgotten the past, as if it didn't matter!"

"Robin...was able to let the past go," Much tried to say, "Robin trusted him." Kate forgot in her momentary outburst how loyal Much had been to Robin, and still was to his memory. If Robin had seen fit to trust someone then Much would eventually follow in time. "And besides, can you blame Archer for putting his faith in his brother?"

"Nevermind how many brother's have died before!"

"No one's asked you to forgive him."

"You have, you have by letting him back into the gang. I cannot speak against him and I cannot have my revenge," Kate wiped a hand to her eyes.

"I wouldn't let you have your revenge even if you could," Much said boldly, "I'm...I'm not going to watch you sink to such a level. You're better than revenge."

Kate couldn't help the laugh which bubbled up through her tears, "Oh, Much, I wish I had the same amount of faith in people as you do."

"Well, it's not always so easy, let me tell you."

Kate laughed again. "I know I have not been the kindest person of late-"

"You're the kindest person I know!"

She smiled, "I think I can do better. I think Robin would want me to do better."

Much coughed and shifted in his stance, "Yes...Robin...well..."

"I think I can go back now," Kate said softly.

Much side stepped out of the way to let her walk alongside him. To his surprise, he felt her reach for his hand. He looked down in disbelief. Kate gave his hand a small squeeze. "I don't believe I have ever had so dear a friend as you, Much," she sighed. Much sighed as well, still a friend, only a friend. Good, steady, loyal Much, always and forever the sidekick, the friend. Yet, he saw her smile at him and then turn her head away from him with a slight color in her cheek. A friend for now maybe...but he still had hope.

* * *

In a split second Shy envisioned all the ways to disarm an adversary. She reached up to the hand on her shoulder the moment she felt it touch her. She tugged the arm forward and twisted it around so that she managed to spin out of its grasp and face her enemy. The would-be opponent gave a small gasp of pain and as soon as Shy realized exactly who she had caught she released the person from her wrenching hold. She covered her mouth with both hands as she muttered into her palms. "My lady!"

Lady Thea rubbed her shoulder where it had been wrenched painfully to one side. "Goodness me," she said in a low, earthy tone, "wherever did you learn that?"

"My lady I...forgive me, I hadn't..." Shy found herself stammering helplessly before her long-time friend. Shock over seeing her again and humiliation over mistaking her for an enemy locked her jaw and stole the power of speech from her.

"That's all right," Lady Thea said, "No harm done," she flexed her arm and her hand once or twice.

Lady Thea was only some years older than Shy. She possessed an oval-shaped face which had all the features of goodness; however, sharpened from experience. Her green eyes seemed fixed and as alert as a predator's, giving off the illusion she was a cold, harsh woman. Her long and lanky stature did nothing to detract from this image. She was elegant in her form, dressed in a combination of light and dark blues, with a surcoat trimmed with gray. Her headdress framed her face, making it appear sharper, matronly, and severe. She touched Shy on the cheek, "I thought for certain you had been killed," and the severity was melted away with an all-inclusive kindness.

"No," Shy managed to say, "at least not yet."

The two women managed to remain composed for a moment longer before they embraced one another like sisters, crying into one another's arms. Shy tried to speak through the tears, but all she could manage was a repetition of "my lady, my lady," for this woman was all the family she had truly ever known.

"Here, here, let me see you, let me look at you," Lady Thea said, tilting Shy's chin upward and placing both hands on either side of her face. Thea tried to still the tremor in her lower lip as she scanned the face of her longtime friend. "You look well," she said and only laughed when she heard Shy gave a small, breathless one at her words. "Not so skinny anymore, I see," Lady Thea went to wiping a few flecks of dirt from Shy's cheeks and smoothing out the wrinkles from the sleeves of her dress. "Not a child anymore."

"I have not been a child for a long time now, my lady," Shy mumbled.

Lady Thea kept her hand in hers and patted it gently. Shy had never known her mother, when she had been a child and had tried to picture what she must have looked like it was always Lady Thea's face which came to her mind's eye. When Lady Thea had married Lord Foster Shy had still been very young, only nine or ten, but the Lady Thea was in her later teens and she had been the most elegant creature Shy had ever seen. Stuck in a loveless and arranged marriage to a man very much her senior, and whom she despised, Lady Thea had not been the easiest mistress of the household. After venting her anger towards a clumsy kitchen servant, Lady Thea had spotted Shy hiding in the corner staring up at her thunderstorm countenance with awe. The lady must have seen something in her child eyes, for she had bidden her to emerge from her corner. She ordered food to be brought, and shouted over the protests of the servants. It was to be Shy's first real meal that did not comprise of mere scraps or gruel.

Mostly a mute in those days, Shy could only be grateful in the silent way of children. After eating Shy tried to walk away, but Lady Thea asked her to keep her company. She followed the lady up to the bedchamber, but she would not cross the threshold. Looking back on that moment, it must have been then that Lady Thea had first begun to realize Shy's purpose. She had never said anything, though, never asked, and never questioned. Shy had escaped back to her small pallet near the kitchens. That evening the lady surprised her with a small book of histories, which she read aloud to her from. From then on Shy sought out the lady of the manor. Each evening Lady Thea would read aloud from the small collection of books she had been allowed to bring with her from her family's home, until eventually, Shy began to read them back to her.

Looking into those same caring eyes now as the lady tenderly patted down her unkempt hair, Shy was struck with the amount of love she felt for this woman. She doubted she had ever loved anyone half so much, yes, she thought, not even the love she bore for Guy even came close.

"How did you know I was here?" Shy asked.

"Brennan told me."

"Bless him," Shy said under her breath. "What has he told you?"

"Hardly anything above the fact that you had been brought into the keep," Lady Thea shrugged, "You haven't been..."

"Oh, no, no," Shy said quickly, rubbing her hands up and down her arms as a chill coursed through her body, she cleared her throat, "My lady we had best go somewhere where we can talk. There is much you need to know."

* * *

The last time Guy had passed through the streets of Warwick, Shy had been at his side. He keenly felt her absence, above that, he felt as if he had failed her and the promises he had made. He looked up in the direction towards the castle, what Gavin and Waleran would have to say to him he could only imagine, and he knew he would deserve it all.

Guy and Archer presented themselves at the Castle Gates and after Guy identified himself they were permitted entrance. Guy noted that the guard was not nearly as heavy and it had been upon his first entry into Warwick. Waleran must have relaxed the guard since the execution of the Imposter. Guy felt almost glad at this, things must have been going well since his departure, not that he had been gone for very long. The feeling of relief startled him. Since when had he ever cared for the fortunes of someone else's lot? But Lord Waleran was a friend, yes, Guy thought, he could consider that man as a friend, Waleran had given him an opportunity to repair his long-damaged reputation and he had trusted him enough to give him an estate and the means to begin again. Guy had never known friendship before, he wondered how he had not realized the source of this loyalty before.

Archer noted that a few of the passing guards had nodded in Guy's direction, seeking a look of recognition. Archer smirked, "Guess you were telling the truth when you said you were well known here."

"Why would I have lied?" Guy grumbled.

"It was a joke, Guy," Archer coughed. While Guy had not touched another bottle of liquor since the incident in the inn three days ago, his temper had not improved much, if anything he had sunk further inwards into his own thoughts. Guy was an introvert by nature, but his sullen and gaunt expression was not going to be the best help when they needed to be as convincing as possible in order to get a credible force back to Nottingham in time to arrest Foster and save Shy.

They were escorted into the Castle by two guards, and they were led to the Great Hall. Archer was impressed by the rigidity of the soldiers, not that he was not well versed in how to comport himself around a Castle, but, he thought, there was a certain military style to these men which he had not seen in a long while. Most guards were easily willed, put a little money in their hands and they were yours for however long you needed them, these men struck Archer as being made of tougher stuff. Lord Waleran must be an imposing man—rich too, Archer noted as he crossed through the halls. He'd have to stay on his best behavior, maybe there were rewards to be had by associating himself with this Waleran.

After being announced, Archer and Guy were allowed to enter the Great Hall. Lord Waleran and Sir Gavin had been seated at the long table, a set of maps and rolls of parchments were scattered over the far end of the table. Archer tried to sneak a glance at them, but his gaze was torn away as he was introduced.

"Sir Guy," Lord Waleran said as he rose from his chair to greet the man. They shook hands, Waleran's grip infinitely stronger, "my friend, it is good to see you back."

"My lord," Guy replied, "I have been kept away far longer than I intended." He exchanged silent and curt greeting with Sir Gavin.

"Let me introduce my brother, Archer."

"A pleasure," Archer said as he made himself free to shake hands with Lord Waleran and his Master-At-Arms. His informal behavior was striking at first, but it was not thought much of after they had all taken their seats.

"A good journey I trust?" Lord Waleran said, taking his ease, "You saw Shy to Rotherham safely? And how is the wild one?"

Guy clenched his hand and grew significantly paler at the casual mention of Shy's well-being. The expectant eyes bored into his own, unaware of the damage they caused by their unknown accusations of failure. "It is," he cleared his throat, trying to speak through his own sense of shame. "It is on behalf of Shy that we have come here, my lord."

A flicker of confusion crossed Lord Waleran's face, "What do you mean by that, Sir Guy?"

Guy and Archer exchanged looks, Archer shrugged as if to say that he would not be the one to explain the situation. In truth, Archer thought it best for Guy to speak, he knew these men and Archer did not. It was better he play the silent role for now and only speak on matters directly concerning his intentions and his plans.

Guy sighed, "My lord, it is complicated and I-"

"I assure you, Guy," Lord Waleran said, sweeping aside the parchment rolls, "I have the time to listen to whatever story you are about to tell me."

"My lord," he nodded respectfully, "I reached Rotherham with Shy as planned, but, I...rather...unforeseeable circumstances aside...that is...she did not stay in Rotherham, my lord, but instead agreed to accompany me back to Warwick as my betrothed."

"Good man!" Lord Waleran boomed out, slamming his hand down on the table top with a rich laugh. He did not see how Guy winced at this open display of congratulations.

"My lord, might I proceed?" Guy said in a low tone, he was motioned to continue as he pleased. "As we were making our way towards Warwick we were met by my brother, here, in Nottingham. We learned that there was to be a new steward appointed to oversee the construction of Nottingham Castle. That steward is Lord Foster of Rotherham, my lord. Now, I did not tell you much of Shy's former life, but Sir Gavin was made aware of the fact that she was a slave, kept since childhood, and it was by this same man. It became...impossible for us to depart upon learning of this. With my brother's aid we are keeping Lord Foster watched carefully, we thought to appeal to you, my lord, for help in this matter. We want him brought to trial for his crimes of holding a Christian woman a slave and for her subsequent..." he couldn't bring himself to utter the list of abuses done to Shy, he choked on his final words, and looked down. Shy could be even now undergoing those tortures again as he sat here slowly relating the whole affair.

"Am I to understand you wish me to undermine a fellow nobleman? To go against an appointment set up by the Prince himself?" Lord Waleran looked far less amused now.

"My lord...if we could expose Lord Foster's crimes it would hardly be undermining any order, it would be to punish a depraved man not fit to the task he has been given," Guy said, regaining his voice.

"I have heard of Lord Foster," Waleran said, silencing Guy, "To his credit, I know him to be a good and reasonable man. You would have me help to arrest and try an honorable man, Sir Guy? Surely you have not been taken in by..." he looked over at Archer, "radical beliefs?"

Archer started, "Radical! Listen, I-"

Guy reached a hand out in front of his brother to stop him, "My lord, it is not a matter of politics. I said my brother and his men were watching Lord Foster's keep carefully, what I did not mention was the fact that there is a spy in Foster's camp. It's Shy. And I assure you if you do not help us you will have proof enough of Foster's cruelty," he swallowed the bile rising in the back of his throat.

Lord Waleran slumped back in his seat, Sir Gavin swore simultaneously. "You left a woman alone to face such a danger?" Gavin cursed.

"My lord," Archer jumped in, "There is a misunderstanding here. I am no outlaw radical, my men and I had no intention of subverting any order in Nottingham upon hearing of the steward. Our actions were based solely on the proof we were given by Shy to his character. My lord, Lord Foster is a dangerous man who is playing his peasants for fools. Are you going to let him take you for the same? We wish to try him. The Prince won't have a liable man in his service, you know that."

"What is my part in this?" Lord Waleran asked.

"Come back with us to Nottingham, my lord, with a small troop of men we can infiltrate Lord Foster's keep and arrest him," Archer explained, "What happens from there is in the hands of the law."

Lord Waleran's gaze flickered over to Guy again, "Do you find this man to be a danger, Sir Guy?"

"My lord, I have seen the terror in Shy's eyes every time that man's name has been mentioned. That is proof enough. And it would be for you as well, if you were her true allies."

"Now, Guy, I would not wish harm upon that woman just as much as you would," Lord Waleran sighed, "but this is a serious matter, and one I do not have the luxury of considering based on emotion alone. I need to think."

"Ah, and here we come to a stalemate, my lord," Guy growled, "while I have the luxury of emotion, you do not have the luxury of time. The longer we delay in returning to Nottingham the likelier the possibility of Shy's death. So I will take my emotion, my lord, but do not take up too much of my time!"

Lord Waleran was almost impressed by this display from the taciturn man. He leaned forward, considering the evidence he had before him. No, he did not wish to see Shy hurt, but he had not suggested she be placed in danger in the first place. Lord Foster had never had any blemishes to his name, and yet as wild as Shy had been, she had never lied, and Sir Gavin had told him vaguely on many occasions that there were events in her past that had damaged her beyond repair and were the cause of her wildness. He could not contend with that. Still, this was not a matter to be agreed upon lightly.

"Go take your rest, my friends," Lord Waleran said, "You'll have my answer on the morrow."

Tomorrow was almost a day too late as far as Guy was concerned. Another night with which he could torture himself to the image of Shy's abuse. Four nights had come and gone since Shy had been back under Foster's keep, how many of those nights had she spent in pain and fear? What if she had been severally injured or tortured? She may even now be dying.

Archer seemed to sense the mounting, indignant panic and he gripped Guy by the arm, "Thank you, my lord, we could not ask for more," he said, whispering to Guy he said, "Your friend is right, you indulge too much in your emotions. See sense and realize there is only so much he can do."

They were led from the Great Hall and once alone in the outer corridor Archer continued, "I'm willing to bet he will help us, Guy, but you will not encourage his help by forcing it from him. I promise that no matter the outcome of this, I will make sure Shy is returned to you, but you need to see past that now and focus on the task at hand."

His brother was right, Guy thought, whether he like it or not. Tomorrow they would ride out for Nottingham, with or without Lord Waleran and his soldiers.

* * *

**A/N: See? Shy's fine...for now. :) And Guy's going to use his powers of persuasion on Waleran (aka: Let's hope he doesn't refuse because Guy's liable to toss him out of a window, or something XD) Hope you all are enjoying the story! Plenty more to come! **


	33. A New Mystery

XXXIII

A New Mystery

"I see that Nottingham's famous outlaws are at last rearing their ugly, meddlesome heads." Lord Foster paced in almost calm contemplation over Sir Brennan's report that the consignment of taxes from the outlying villages had been compromised by a hooded band of highwaymen just before reaching Nottingham Town. Lord Foster was not one to immediately let his anger override his reason. He had listened to the report quietly, and at that moment could only think back on the warnings he had received about the outlaws before taking up the position as Steward. He had thought Robin Hood had died months ago in the Siege of Nottingham, but rumors were only rumors. This recent attack certainly proved that if Robin Hood himself wasn't still alive, an equally troublesome band of thieves still was.

"My lord," Sir Brennan dipped his head, "I have already sent out scouts to comb the forest. We will find these outlaws, make no mistake about that."

Lord Foster waved his hand, not interested in his captain's confidences. "If you do find them be sure to take them alive." If he could be the one to find Robin Hood or whatever was left of his infamous gang it would only serve to elevate him in the Prince's favor. It could be that this disastrous strike might only prove beneficial.

"Of course, my lord," Sir Brennan said with another bow. "What shall I do with the guards who allowed the outlaws to take the tax money?"

Lord Foster raised an eyebrow at Brennan's comment. In truth he had stopped thinking of a punishment the moment the idea of capturing Robin Hood popped into his head. Still, he could not lose face with his men, and incompetence must not be seen to go unpunished. A flogging? Too severe, even if he did enjoy watching a good whipping. Anything more extreme wouldn't be warranted, and he couldn't go about torturing his own guards. "A reduction in rations, I believe is fitting here," he at last decided with a sigh of boredom. A loss of food was always cutting for a troop of hungry soldiers.

"Yes, my lord," Sir Brennan said, turning to leave his master's tent to give the order.

"A moment, Sir Brennan, will you see that Shy is brought to my tent?" Lord Foster said with a small grin. All this talk of punishment and the excitement of finding outlaws in Sherwood Forest had whetted his appetite.

"Shy, my lord?" Brennan asked.

Had he not been perfectly clear? "Yes, fetch her."

"My lord...I hope you do not find this impertinent, but, Shy is...that is I had hoped..."

"Oh, I had forgotten!" Lord Foster started with a rough laugh, "Your little infatuation with the girl, how sweet. She's in your tent, then, is she not? Warming your bed nicely is she?"

"My lord..." Sir Brennan's voice grated as he spoke through gritted teeth. "Shy is...tied up at the moment."

Lord Foster laughed most heartily at this and fell back into a chair, "How delightful. The ropes are tight, are they?"

"Of course."

"Gagged?"

"I like my women silent, my lord."

"Pity, Brennan, there's a unique pleasure in that exact octave they reach when they're in pain."

"My lord will forgive me if I claim that we have very different tastes in how we prefer to treat our women."

Lord Foster smiled, "Very good, Brennan, very good. Have your fun with my little Shy this evening. Tomorrow I want her brought to my tent though, no excuses. I'll have her singing a pretty tune for you by the end of the evening."

Sir Brennan bowed one final time before leaving the tent. He shuddered outside, feeling bile well up in the back of his throat. The double deception had been hard on him. After notifying Shy of the movement of the tax money and after Shy had passed along the information to Tuck, Brennan had begun feeling ill. Lying to Foster was always a risky bet, the man was uncanny in his ability to detect who was telling him falsehoods. Luckily, Lord Foster had been more charmed than annoyed at the idea that the outlaws of Sherwood had taken the time to rob him of his money. Having only dealt with the occasional highwayman every now and again back in Rotherham, he perhaps did not fully grasp the situation at hand. His soldiers were capable men, and if Brennan had sent out any scouts as he had said that he had done then he might very well be fearing for the outlaws' safety at this moment, but as it was, there was nothing to worry over. The improvised deception he had pulled in regards to Shy was the current source of his nausea. Thank God, Foster had been in a good mood, otherwise nothing he had said or done would have deterred him from seeking her out.

Brennan pulled back the flap from his own tent and stepped inside. Shy was standing in the middle of the tent, pacing. The moment she saw him she ran to him. "How did it go? Was anyone hurt? Did the money get through?"

Brennan took her hands in his to steady her. "The money is with the outlaws. For what it's worth, their plan worked perfectly."

Shy exhaled, "Oh that is good, that is very good. Was Foster furious?" she grinned wickedly.

Brennan shrugged, "Mildly amused is more the like. I think he believes the idea of Robin Hood to be a potentially intriguing challenge for him."

Shy was not put off by this, Brennan could see by her mischievous grin. "Well, I am glad it went well," she said, "It is good to see that I have not been useless here." She allowed herself to relax for the first time during the course of the day. She sat down on the pallet with a sigh.

"What is it?" Shy asked Brennan, sensing a lingering distress.

"Foster," Brennan said bluntly in a strict monotone, "He has asked for you. For tomorrow."

Shy paled, the color on her cheeks withering and dying. She pulled her legs up against her, her knees pressed against her chest as she hugged herself. "That is to be expected..." she mumbled something inaudible for a moment and then looked up at Brennan. "You can not tell him I am with you?" She knew all the old alibis Brennan used in order to buy Shy time away from Fosters' bedchambers back in Rotherham.

"Why do you think you are still in my tent tonight?" Brennan said, an icy chill in his harsh voice.

Shy's face took on a distinctly grayish-green tinge. She lowered her head to her knees and her dark locks blocked her face. Her nails dug into her skin and for an instant, Brennan thought she must have begun crying in despair. He knelt down before her, overwhelmed with the same sense of hopelessness. For days now he had been trying desperately to see her almost as a married woman, a woman unattainable and unreachable, but try as he might he could only see her now as the woman he loved about to be put through an unspeakable torture.

Brennan reached for her to pull her into a comforting embrace when Shy's head shot up. Much to Brennan's surprise, her gray eyes were completely devoid of any tears and the expression on her face was far from despairing. She grinned that mischievous, little smile she always had when she had just done something rather impulsive and damaging to Lord Foster's pride or property. Inevitably such grins resulted in a good flogging, and Brennan felt his stomach twist at the sight of such a devious look.

"I have a plan."

* * *

Lady Adela slapped Guy soundly across the face, utilizing far more force than she thought herself capable of. She at once flushed an even brighter crimson than the mark she had left imprinted on Guy's face. "I apologize, Sir Guy," she said immediately with a dip of her head, but then almost as quickly turned on him with a thinly veiled snap, "but...but _how could you let this happen!_"

Guy had been hoping to speak to Gavin, but he had run across the knight's irate wife first. This answered his question on whether or not Gavin had told Adela any news of his return to Warwick. The normally docile woman was standing before him looking quite agitated with her sudden fury. She was a great deal smaller than him, but Guy could have mistaken her for a veritable lioness. He rubbed his cheek, the slap had stung, but even with Lady Adela swinging her full weight behind it, it did not irritate him for long. He was almost grateful for the Lady's physical show of anger.

"Do you honestly believe this is how I wanted things to happen?" Guy remarked.

"Oh, no," Lady Adela huffed, her anger cooling momentarily, "but Shy was in your care. It was your responsibility to see to it that she did not do anything so...so..._infinitely stupid!_"

"Shy is no longer in my care, my lady," Guy said softly.

Lady Adela gave a rather unladylike stomp of her foot, "Oh! I am getting my words all turned around. I did not meant to imply that simply because she has put herself in this situation she was no longer-"

"No, my lady, I understood you completely."

"But..." the crimson flush died in Lady Adela's cheeks as she stared up at Guy, "but my husband said you had made Shy an offer of marriage. Have we been misinformed of this?"

"The engagement was broken," Guy said roughly.

"Broken?" Lady Adela was breathless with disbelief. She shook her head. Impossible. She could see from the grief in Guy's eyes that this decision did not sit well with him. "Surely-"

"Sir Guy!" Sir Gavin's voice caught the pair by surprise. Gavin made a small nod to his wife who was too shocked to make much of any reply. "I have been looking for you. Come, Lord Waleran is in the Great Hall, your brother with him."

Sir Guy moved to follow his friend down the hall, but he was prevented from going very far. Lady Adela gave Guy's arm a jerk, gripping the sleeve of his coat with more strength than she thought she could have ever possibly managed. "Resolve this," she said in a tight voice, constrained with confusion and anger.

"My lady," Sir Guy bowed his head, his brow furrowed with lines of contrition, "I intend to."

The walk was a short one to the Great Hall; however, it felt far longer for the two silent companions. Sir Guy looked over at Gavin, who was grim faced and had his eyes set directly forward, neither stealing glances to the left or right of him. "Gavin..."

"Excuses, Gisborne?" Gavin said, "Do not bother."

"Believe me, I did not mean for this to have happened!"

"Of course you did not," Sir Gavin replied. "And of course it was only a matter of time before you sought to abuse your own standing amongst us. As if Lord Walearn has not already done more than enough for you, you must ask him to fight for your radical brother..."

Sir Guy caught Gavin's arm, a dark spark of anger burning in his steel eyes, "I have no regard for my brother's schemes. He desires to see Nottingham free, he is deluded by the heroics of Robin Hood, I have no care for the fate of Nottingham. I never have. You must believe me when I say that what I do here and what I ask of you and Lord Waleran is only to help me save the life of our mutual friend. You are like me, Gavin, we both know the value of law and order, this Lord Foster mocks the same system we claim to admire. You have a love for justice, Gavin, more than I do, by far. How well will you sleep at night if you allow an injustice to continue unpunished and untried simply because it is inconvenient for you to fight against it?"

Gavin appeared genuinely astonished at Guy's little speech. The hard look died in his eyes. "You do not have to convince me," he said, "the decision is entirely with Lord Waleran."

If Gavin had felt remotely shocked by Guy's words it was nothing compared with how Guy himself felt about what he just said. The words hardly felt like his own. When had he ever talked of justice? He tried to rationalize that he had only said what he needed to say to galvanize support from Sir Gavin, but, no, it was more than that, he had meant each word he had said. He realized, with a sickening lurch in his heart, that this was something Marian might have said to him at one time. It was grotesque that he should at last understand what it was she had been trying to tell him. No, perhaps he did not quite grasp all of what Marian had believed in, but Marian would certainly have been proud by his attempt.

Sir Gavin led Guy into the Great Hall where Archer and Lord Waleran were already seated. Archer grinned cheekily at his brother as he took a seat beside him, but Archer's gaze was dark and Guy stared at him quizzically, had his brother and Lord Waleran already been in heated discussion? What had Archer said to him?

"You have placed me in a very difficult situation, Sir Guy," Lord Waleran said. "If I help you arrest Lord Foster, a man appointed by the Prince, not only could I be aiding in the destruction of a fellow nobleman, but I will also arouse suspicion from Prince John. I am not on the best of terms with the Prince as it stands. Yet, you would have me forgo propriety and aid you regardless of the consequences?"

"My lord, I would not ask this of you if I did not believe that this was right," Guy said, strained.

"No I believe you would not have," Lord Waleran mused with a sigh.

There was a tense few moments of utter silence as Lord Waleran contemplated his next response.

"You will be given twelve men, and Sir Gavin will accompany you back to Nottingham to oversee this arrest," Lord Waleran said at last, "but if these accusations against Lord Foster prove to be false, I will not have my name traced back to this assault. Sir Gavin is not known in Nottingham, anonymity is my only condition, do we understand one another."

Guy felt an overwhelming sense of relief course through him. "Of course, my lord. You will see that what I have told you is the truth. You have my gratitude-"

"That will not be necessary. I am not doing this for you," Lord Waleran said, "As it happens, I am indebted to Shy. You are merely calling in what is owing."

Guy merely nodded. He did not care why Lord Waleran felt he needed to aid them, he cared only for the fact that this meant he could return to Nottingham with the means of getting Shy out of Lord Foster's keep. The only thing that mattered, the only thing that had ever mattered, was assuring Shy's safety. He only prayed it was not too late.

* * *

Shy lay back upon the pallet as still and as inflexible as a child's doll. She willed her heart to remain steady and she timed out every breath she drew in in counts of seven before releasing it. Her hands were bound together, along with her feet, but she was still fully clothed. It was an old game of Foster's to undress her piece by piece.

Shy jolted at the feel of cold steel against her leg. She wriggled in her bonds, her skin pricking at the feel of the metal. Foster trailed a small dagger over her body, making small cuts to her dress and the skin beneath as he went. Shy bit down lightly on the inside of her lip, doing her best to keep her face calm and impassive. The nicks on her skin stung, but the pain ended almost as soon as it began. She felt small drops of blood drip down her arms, belly, and legs, but the lines of crimson were small, and Shy knew they would not scar. It was frustration more than fear and more than rage which fueled her courage. The rope binding her wrists together was rubbing her skin raw. She fixed a stare to Lord Foster, trying to find a multitude of ways to imagine him dying by her hands, and the only one which appeased her and kept her still and focused was the thought of strangling him slowly to death with the same rope which he used to tie her down. Yes, that was a very sweet image. She rolled it about in her mind as she would roll and relish a succulent cut of meat. She did not realize she was bearing Foster a wolfish grin until he slapped her across the face. Shy tasted copper and noticed her lip was bleeding from where her teeth had bitten through the inner skin just as Foster's palm came into contact with her mouth. She licked at the cut and smiled again, painting her teeth a bright, vivid red. She resisted the urge to spit in his face.

Foster leaned in and kissed Shy on the mouth, sucking and licked the blood from her teeth and from the slowly bleeding cut on her inner lip. Shy kicked futilely against the pallet.

"What do you say?" he prompted, parting from her, still licking his own lips as if he was still capable of tasting her there.

"Go to Hell?"

Another slap across the face and the cut bled anew.

"May your miserable soul rot in-"

Another slap and another. Shy chuckled, spitting blood onto the floor. Working over Lord Foster's temper was the best way to distract him from his ultimate goal, and tonight was all about distraction. Pain she could handle, her tolerance had always been unusually high, if all he had in store for her was a few choice punches and scratches from a blade this was going to be an easy night. Brennan had told her that Foster had been frustrated with the outlaws attack on his guards yesterday, he would have pent up anger and unreleased stress. Shy could work with that and use it to her advantage. The fact that she was playing with Lord Foster like a kitten with a ball of yarn amused her greatly. The fact that Lord Foster believed her to be helpless and at his mercy, was all the more delicious.

"Thank you, my lord," Shy said tiring of this particular game.

"All those months away from home, you've forgotten obedience, my dear," Lord Foster said. "Tell me what was it like in the slave carts?"

Narration. Another old favorite of his.

"Unpleasant, my lord," Shy said, watching him as she unlaced his trousers. _Brennan, where are you?_

"Let's not be stingy on the details, my dear," Foster remarked with a heavy pant, he folded back her lower skirts and wiped streaks of blood from the multiple cuts on her inner thighs over her pale skin. He kneading her flesh with forceful and harsh presses. His nails digging into her.

Shy raised her back off of the pallet, her eyes closed briefly as she absorbed the spike of pain. "It was cold, my lord, sometimes I was not fed for days. When I spoke out of turn I was whipped," she tried not to place her self back into that cage, but the moment she started to speak she felt herself shivering, staring out at the world through iron bars. The cold and the hunger flooded her mind for a moment, leaving her gasping.

Lord Foster seemed excited at the expression of sudden terror in Shy's distant eyes. He rubbed himself up against her and at this violation, Shy was recalled to the moment. She shook her head, renewing her hardened glare. If she did not express pain or fear, Foster would loose patience with this game. Although she could sense he was no longer in the mood to play.

A commotion from outside crashed down around Shy's ears like the very trumpets of the angels in heaven. Indecipherable shouting could be heard accompanied by the metallic rustling of men running in armor.

"My lord!" A voice from just beyond the tent shouted.

_Praise God! Brennan!_ Shy prayed in an almost feverish gratitude as she felt Foster slide away from her.

"What?" Came the furious snap of Lord Foster's voice as he quickly relaced his trousers.

"Outlaws! Attacking our storeroom, my lord!"

"Make sure the gate is blocked! Have men at every post on the battlements. _Don't_ let them escape." Lord Foster grinned and bent down over the trussed up Shy, "Don't move, my dear," he bent down and placed an almost fatherly kiss upon her forehead before he straightened, grabbed his sword, and headed out of the tent to oversee his guards.

Shy exhaled in a rush as soon as she was alone. The sounds of the skirmish going on outside seemed muted. Shy had no fear for Tuck and the rest of the gang, she knew they would hold their own and make it out. The grain kept in the storeroom was payment for their trouble in creating this little diversion. She knew they would like it. Now for her own escape.

Her wrists chaffed as she tried to rotated her hands about, manipulating her arms until she was able to pull up on the sleeve of her dress and sneak two fingers inside. She grunted as she twisted and flailed about, a veritable fish on the kitchen table. At last she felt cool metal slide against her palm. With the dagger in her hand she set about to sawing the rope binding her wrists together. It was the work of a few moments, the blade was sharp and cut through the fibers of the rope with a greedy will. Shy gave a great gasp of relief as her hands were freed.

"Thank you, Guy, my darling," Shy breathed out as she sheathed Guy's dagger and set about untying her feet.

Shy rose to her feet, rubbing sore and bleeding wrists. There was a table set up towards the side of the tent and she crossed over to it. Parchment littered the small table and Shy scanned it briefly. The commotion outside did not sound close to dying down. She had time to examine Lord Foster's personal papers. She thought to keep an eye out for letters to and from Prince John, anything could be useful at some point. But the papers she saw on the desk were nothing more than two maps of the shire and a detailed report on the construction of the castle. Shy shifted the papers about, underneath that was only a few scattered blueprints of the castle layout. Nothing to even suggest treachery.

Just as she was about to make her way out of the tent, an ornate box caught her eye. It was lying underneath the table, inconspicuous, and for the most part out of sight. Shy knelt under the table and brought it up. There was a lock where a small key would fit perfectly. Setting the box down on the table Shy swept the tent furiously for the key. She poured through the one lone drawer on the table, feeling around frantically. He fingers dug into the side of the drawer and felt the bottom come loose. Shy gave a gasp and pulled up, reaching through the false-bottom she felt the tiny teeth of a key.

Shy put key to lock and was not surprised to find it was a perfect match. Shy opened the lid and peered inside. Not knowing exactly what she expected to find, Shy did not know whether or not to be disappointed at the sight of more letters. She drew a paper from the top of the pile and read:

_Lord Foster,_

_I am well enough to make an inspection of your work. The Prince holds every confidence in your ability to rebuild Nottingham Castle. I see no reason why I should not share this same enthusiasm. If I am pleased enough with your service you will be well rewarded when I resume my duties. _

_God Preserve You,_

_I.G_

Memorizing the short message, Shy hastily shoved the letter back into the box and locked it again. She placed the key back inside the drawer and, with trembling hands, situated the box in the exact position she had discovered it under the table.

Here was something! She was not sure what exactly it was, but she must be certain to mention it to Tuck the next time he came to check on her. She doubted Brennan would know of this so called I.G. The letter had been kept in Lord Foster's private files, somehow Shy did not suspect Brennan would be privy to its contents.

Shy stumbled from the tent in time to see four cloaked figures fleeing through the gate, a troop of guards in hot pursuit. She grinned. All was well it seemed. Now to make for Brennan's tent. She would be in for a beating tomorrow, but she would claim one of the outlaws had snuck in and tried to free her, but the way had been blocked before she could flee. A flogging would be nothing. Shy smiled as she walked unseen in the cool night air. She had done well tonight, had outsmarted the damned bastard and discovered a most interesting mystery. She was trembling all over with a mixture of competing emotions. When the adrenaline left her body as she neared the tent, she clapped a hand over her mouth, bent double and retched, purging her body of the violent fear she had tried to keep locked away.

* * *

**A/N: I apologize for the delay in updates. I was suffering from a severe amount of writer's block that no amount of Guy yelling and screaming at me could possibly have cured. XD Luckily it went away on it's own. Do leave a review! **


	34. Games of Mockery

XXXIV

Games of Mockery

The wind whipped at Shy's hair as she hung suspended on a wooden plank. Her cheek pressed against the cool, rough wood. Her back burned like a brand, but it was not an unendurable sensation, for it was a most familiar one. Floggings were an almost weekly occurrence for Shy back in Rotherham, the guards could set their days based on them. It had only been ten lashes today, a relatively small number.

She had been strung up for nearly two hours, and her wrists were growing numb. She gave a sigh which transformed into a gasp of shock at the feel of cold water being splashed over her to wake her from her stupor. Shy shivered, the cold air felt doubly chill with the icy water dripping from her. It mixed with the warm liquid of her blood still trailing down her already scarred back. Shy gave a half-hearted wriggle. It hurt more to struggle needlessly. She'd be let down soon enough, and once she was Brennan would see to it she was properly bandaged, then these wounds could grow into harmless scars like the others.

Lord Foster wound his way around Shy, coming to face her. "Old habits die hard, do they not, my dear?" He shook his head, "And I would have thought by now you would have learned a long time ago that escape was a pointless prospect. Oh, come now," he chided with a click of his tongue at the tired, and hateful expression on Shy's face, "don't give me such a look. You have only yourself to blame. If you had done as you were commanded you might be in a warm, soft bed now."

Shy continued to stare down at Foster in silence. Foster sighed in regret, "Have it your way, my dear," he turned to Sir Brennan who was standing guard over the events. "Keep her here overnight. Perhaps tomorrow the animal in her will have gone back to its sleep."

"Yes, my lord," Sir Brennan complied, but the moment his lord was out of sight he raced up the scaffold to untie Shy from her bonds.

"What are you doing?" Shy asked him.

"What does it look like I am doing?" He struggled to untie the tight knots binding her right arm to the plank.

"Stop," Shy moaned. "Lord Foster will know it was you who freed me. He'll have you punished."

"To hell with him and his punishment."

"Brennan, please..."

"Do you expect me to leave you here?"

Shy caught Brennan's gaze at last, her eyes were calm as she stared into his wild ones. "Yes," she said, "I'll be all right."

Brennan looked far from appeased at Shy's false confidence. "You are always doing this," he muttered darkly, "Always saying you are fine when I know you are not, always insisting upon doing the most dangerous and addlebrained thing as if you thought you had something to prove. Do you do this to punish me?"

Shy pulled at her bonds in frustration, "This is not about you," she hissed. "This is about vengeance."

"Listen to yourself! Vengeance! As if you knew anything about what it means to take a life or shed blood. Shy you had your vengeance when you were free, to be out of Foster's control and in command of your own life was vengeance enough, not blood!"

"_Stop it._" Shy spat, her face contorting in fury, but there were tears in her eyes, "I am always being told who I am and what I am. You would make me out to be as innocent as a lamb, yet you know I am not. I have made this decision. Me! I will be the one to bring Foster to ruin. It has to be me, and I'll not be told by you or anyone else that this is not my right! If I was a man would such a right be denied me?"

"If you were a man you'd have more sense and reason in your approach!"

"Oh and I suppose all men are such rational creatures, just as you were when you begged for a more physical sign of affection?"

"How many times must I apologize-"

"And yet you are still with Lord Foster. Contrition was not enough to turn you from the monster you serve."

"Shy, I cannot explain. Not now. You are not willing to listen."

"No, I suppose I am not. Remain at your post and do not think to free me again. I am seeing this mission to completion, Brennan. Do not think to get in my way again!"

Brennan backed away from Shy with a shake of his head, "Is this what freedom has done to you Shy? You are more wild and more an animal than ever I saw you. I pray you remember your humanity, or you will find yourself a caged creature forever."

Shy tried to ignore Brennan's final words to her that night, but it proved impossible. They gnawed at her and kept her awake. Her blood boiled into anger as she thought how best to refute his words, when none came she went to fury, but fury led her into a deep sense of shame. What right had she to be so angered towards a man who had never been anything but a friend in a trying time? Had he not always had her best intentions at heart? Shame cooled the rage left within her body and she felt herself grow slack against her bonds. Her back began to throb painfully as the sting from the gashes on her back took up the forefront of her mind. She shivered, her hair wet from where the water had soaked her. In the hours between darkness and dawn her mind swam in a haze of half-sleep. She dreamed for a time she was floating on the wind, only to wake and remind herself she was only swaying suspended in her bonds.

In the morning Brennan's watch was due to be relieved by another guard. Shy glanced down at the man as he walked past the scaffold. "I'm sorry," Shy whispered, finding herself truly meaning it.

Brennan glared up at her, hurt still in his eyes, "You are always sorry," he replied, mimicking her former words of spite. He turned and left her.

Shy continued on in her drowsy state until the rumbling of a carriage and the shouts of soldiers to clear the way, roused her sufficiently. She struggled to hold her head up as a small carriage rolled in past the gates of the keep. Lord Foster and Lady Thea were both standing side by side to greet their guest. They were making a show of things, Lord Foster never presented Lady Thea at his side except where he was eager to make a good impression. Shy squinted her eyes, unable to discern facial expressions. She was able to see a figure alight from the carriage, accompanied by a soldier of her own retinue. This cloaked figure leaned heavily against the man as she walked over towards Lord Foster and Lady Thea, who bowed their heads respectfully. Words must have been exchanged, and Shy struggled to hear, but she knew she was too far away to hear anything. With a sigh of frustration, Shy let her head sag down again, too tired to keep it up. She was due to be released soon, and then she could find out for herself who this new acquaintance of Lord Foster's was.

From the corner of her eye she saw Lord Foster and Lady Thea escort their guest into their tent. It was then Shy could no longer manage to keep her eyes open and she gave into blissful sleep.

* * *

Shy awoke again to the feeling of being gently lowered back to the ground. Her arms were free, she noted with some distant feeling of relief, and her ankles were in the process of being untied as well. She turned a bleary eye to the ground, expecting to see Sir Brennan or Lady Thea standing there to receive her pathetic form. Instead she found herself locking eyes with a stranger.

"Wh-who are you?" Shy's voice cracked with sleep and exhaustion.

The stranger, a woman, did not answer her. She merely nodded to the two soldiers who were untying her and keeping her steady. "Bring her to my tent," she said, her voice gravelly.

The soldiers hoisted her up to support her. Shy struggled against them, "No...no let me go! Let me go!" Terrified of being taken by someone she was unfamiliar with and too exhausted to understand fully what was going on around her, Shy fought and kicked all the way towards a small tent furthest back inside the grounds of the keep, and nearest the construction site of Nottingham Castle. The foundation of which already rose up from the ground like a gray mountain, disorienting Shy even further and giving her visions of the gray battlements of the walls around the city of Rotherham where the manor lay in wait for her arrival.

Her writhing form was deposited onto a cushioned pallet. The soldiers then left her and Shy, panting hard, sat upright, terrified.

"Be still," a voice said to her right. The strange woman was in the process of removing her cloak. A difficult one, by the way her face grimaced in a form of mysterious pain. She had a harder time of maneuvering the left side of her body out of the cloak and Shy soon understood why. Her left arm was strung up in a brace and it looked malformed in a sickly way. The arm seemed shrunken and the hand hung uselessly downwards, its form obscured by a black glove.

The woman herself bore more visible scaring. The right side of her cheek had two vicious looking burn marks marring her fair skin and the flesh of her throat was warped with red burns. Shy ventured to guess the rest of her body also bore the mark of burns, hence the need for such a high collared and restricting gown. Shy caught herself staring, "Apologies..."

The woman shrugged. "No need, I would stare at you if you were marked the same."

Shy was not sure what to say. She knew she should ask who this woman was, and why she had ordered her brought to her tent, but her tongue tied itself about in knots and remained firmly lodged within her mouth. The woman gave a wicked looking smirk, enhanced by the ugly burns which touched the corner of her lips. "Lord Foster gave me permission to see you down from your little perch. Although I should rather say he merely obeyed my own command."

She gestured for Shy to lie down, back up. Shy tense as she felt the woman dab at her freshly bloodied skin with a wet cloth. The water stung at the burns and tears of pain welled in her eyes before she grew used to the sting and was able to relax herself. The woman continued speaking, "He told me you were a servant girl in need of correction."

"That is true, my lady," Shy said, not willing to expose anything about herself to so forward a woman.

"What was your crime?"

"Disobedience, my lady."

"And tell me, girl, is your master prone to giving you such harsh punishments?"

Shy thought of her answer, "...yes, my lady."

"Are you disobedient often then?"

"I try not to be, my lady."

"Your back would say otherwise," the woman pawed at the myriad of old wounds.

"Your pardon, my lady, but...why are you showing me such a kindness?" Shy asked.

The woman paused her ministrations, "I'm sorry, would you have rather I let you hang out in the open as you were?"

"No, but...who _are_ you?"

"I am Lady Isabella, Sheriff of Nottingham."

Shy felt herself grow ridged. She sat up, causing Isabella to back away from her. Shy fixed her with a questioning stare. "The Sheriff is supposed to be dead," she said softly. "You are supposed to be dead."

"Not quite," Lady Isabella remarked, "although let me say it was not for lack of trying. Are you from Nottingham then?"

"No...no, I am from Rotherham, my lady. I am called Shy, my lady."

She felt herself freeze as she came under the scarred woman's scrutiny. The gaze held something of a familiar quality to it and at first Shy could not figure out as to why. Lady Isabella smiled, and Shy found herself looking away to avoid the knot growing in the pit of her stomach at the sight of the twisted side of her face curling upward in a grotesque imitation of a grin.

"Well then, Shy, I will ask it of Lord Foster that you be made my new servant while I am here. Perhaps I will prove a better teacher of obedience?"

"Forgive me, my lady, but I do not know if that will be possible."

"Why not?"

"I am Lord Foster's...that is, I am his..." What could she say? Shy continued to stammer, seeking the right words.

"I believe I understand," Lady Isabella interrupted sharply. "And it is all the more reason for me to bridge the question."

"My lady...thank you." Gratitude was the farthest thing for Shy's mind. She tried to recall what Lady Adela had said about the former Sheriff of Nottingham. Adela had spoken of the Sheriff as a man by the name of Vaysey, if that was so, then who was this woman and how did she fit into all of this? She recalled the letter she had found in Foster's tent. I.G. It did say that whoever this I.G was she was due to arrive. This must be her. Either way Shy could not afford to take her eyes of of Lord Foster, but at the same time this did present a rather fortuitous opportunity, at least she was certain that was how the gang would see it. She did not care about spying on the higher power in Nottingham. Foster was all that matter. Lady Isabella was no more than an obstacle.

* * *

_King Richard lay sprawled out on the desert sand. Guy approached with sword drawn, his face set in grim determination to finish this final heinous act. There was nothing to stop him, no witnesses of any kind. By the time Robin Hood and his outlaws found their precious king he would be dead and Guy would be long gone. _

_This momentary triumph faded at the sound of Marian's frantic shout, "Guy!"_

_Guy looked up in time to see Marian racing down a flight of stairs to rush out before him. "Get out of the way," Guy growled, he had not wanted Marian to see this. _

"_No."_

"_Marian. Get out of way!" He thought to scare her by swinging the sword inches from her body. _

"_You will have to kill me first."_

_There was the strange sensation that he had heard those words before, but Guy could not remember when or where. "No. We're going to get out of this. I'm going to do this thing and then I will have power beyond measure, and we will be together." Again, the feeling that he had uttered those words before overtook him. His mind felt clouded for a moment, and he nearly lowered his sword. _

"_I would rather die than be with you, Guy of Gisborne." _

"_No!" _

"_I am going to marry Robin Hood."_

_Why was she saying this? How could she say this? He needed to stop it. He needed to make her stop! _

"_I love Robin Hood."_

_No, she loved him! She was supposed to love him! _

"_I love Robin Hood," Marian repeated with a gentle sincerity that burned at Guy. It was all he could do to continue breathing. _

_Guy lunged for her, pressing her close to him. The only thought in his mind was to get her to stop speaking such hateful words. Words that could not possibly be true, but that he knew beyond a doubt were. The hot sting of tears trickled down his face and he shuddered as he drew in breath through aching lungs. The woman in his arms gave a groan of pain and Guy suddenly felt that his hand was still clenched tight about the handle of his sword. He shifted Marian in his arms, daring himself to look at her, praying against all reason that he had not done the unthinkable. _

_Guy felt the breath within his body vanish. Instead of the clear bright blue of Marian's eyes, he found himself staring into stormy pain-filled gray eyes. _

"_S-s-Shy?"_

_The woman pushed herself away from Guy, removing the sword from her belly. She stumbled backwards and crumpled to the floor, blood pooling out from the wound. In shock, Guy threw the sword from him and sunk to the sandy ground. He reached for Shy, who was convulsing with agony. Guy placed a hand over the wound. "Shy?" The woman's eyes were closed. Frantic, Guy tried to staunch the seemingly endless flow of blood, but he could not locate the exact spot where the sword had pierced her flesh. It seemed as if Shy had never been touched with the sword, and yet she continued to bleed. _

_He could feel the blood staining his hands and arms. He shook the still form of the woman. "Stay with me, stay with me..."_

_Shy opened her eyes, but they were no longer her own. They were Marian's. She stared at him accusingly. "Why did you kill me?" The voice was not wholly Marian's, and yet was undoubtably hers._

"_I...I didn't mean to..." Guy plead, feeling like a child. "I never meant to."_

"_How could you forget me?" _

"_I could never! I will never..."_

"_You do not deserve her, murderer."_

_The voice faded and Shy's form returned to normal. She looked up at Guy for a moment before her eyes rolled up into her head and she lay dead in his arms. _

"_Shy?" The name was barely a whisper. "No...don't leave me...Shy!"_

"SHY!" Guy jolted awake, the scream tearing through him. He thrashed about in momentary panic and confusion over his surroundings. When the fear left him he lay back upon his pallet, staring up at the roof of the tent, concentrating on heaving breath into his body. Guy passed a hand over his eyes. The image of Shy's bloodied and dying body still fresh in his mind.

"Guy? Guy I heard a shout, is everything all right?" Archer called out from outside the tent.

"Fine." Guy grunted, his voice still raspy with sleep. "Why wouldn't it be?"

"I heard you cry out."

"Are you sleep-addled, brother? Get back to your tent. We set out at dawn and I don't need you hallucinating from lack of sleep."

Archer mumbled some form of an apology and Guy heard his shuffling footsteps. They were getting close to Nottingham now. Only a day's journey left and they would reach Sherwood where they would rendezvous with the rest of the outlaws. Just one more day and he would free Shy. His stomach turned, it had been nearly a week since Shy had decided to go to Lord Foster's keep. He prayed fervently she had faired well, that she was yet untouched and uninjured. He had the sickening feeling his prayers fell upon deaf ears. The dream felt like an evil omen, and while Guy was not a superstitious man, it was hard to ignore so violent a dream as his had been.

He caught sight of his sword and scabbard in the corner of the tent. His hands trembled and he balled them up into fists. He rolled over to face away from the weapon. As he did so Shy's words came back to haunt him: _I know you're good at killing women whom you profess to love!_

He closed his eyes tight, trying to find a way to drown out Shy's mocking voice. In the darkness; however, all he could see was Marian falling, run through, staring up at him in pain and confusion. This was immediately replaced by the Shy's face. Guy gave a muffled snarl of frustration and clawed the blanket off of him and threw it to one side in a burst of rage. There would be no sleep tonight.

* * *

**A/N: Merry Christmas Eve! :) Hope everyone is having a lovely holiday season. So, I hate to say this, but this story may be going on hold for just a few weeks to a month. Nothing too bad, but I need to cut myself off from fic writing for a bit. I've been given the fantastic opportunity to have sample chapters of my own original novel be shown to a publisher and I need to take the time this month to work on that. It's very very exciting and while I don't anticipate anything major to come from this, if it does you'll all be kept up to date. :) So have a great holiday, everyone, and have a fabulous New Year! **


	35. Crisis

XXXV

Crisis

The troop of soldiers reached Sherwood Forest by midday. Sir Guy, Archer, and Sir Gavin led the way. They had past the town of Nottingham and it had taken every ounce of restraint in Guy's body not to change course and ride straight into town and save Shy himself. Sensing his brother's distress, Archer rode up closer to him, keeping an eye on his movements.

"You'll spook your horse if you keep fidgeting like that," Archer commented.

Guy glared at him, and Archer could not help but notice how bloodshot his eyes were. "Can I count on you to stick to the plan?" Archer asked.

"When have I wavered from this damned scheme?"

"Guy, it is not a question of your loyalty, it is a question of temper. We must keep a calm and rational mind about ourselves."

"Do you even realize who you sound like?" Guy grunted.

"Who?"

"You sound more and more like Hood with each passing day."

"Good, at least one of us does."

Guy chuckled, "I would have thought that an insult, Archer. Whatever happened to you being your own man? Following no one and not caring where you go?"

"Aye, and whatever happened to you being a murdering henchman, not caring who you killed as long as you got what you wanted in the end?" Archer retorted, he did not feel disturbed overmuch by the hateful glare his brother gave him. "Get a hold of yourself, Gisborne. It won't be me you let down if you don't."

Guy knew Archer was right. He could not help the nervous energy racing through him. He had not slept in the past few nights for the many nightmares taunting him. Shy was so close, no more than an hour's ride away, yet he was riding away from her. Of course he must stick to the plan, for if he did not then all of Shy's work would have been for nothing and any injury she had suffered would have been in vain, and Guy knew that Shy would never forgive him for that. Not that he had a hope of being forgiven by her as it was. Perhaps that was what was truly keeping him on edge, the idea the even though he was so close to finally reuniting with Shy she might not want him back, she might turn him away. The thought was an unbearable possibility, almost a certainty, and it was causing intolerable agony. Guy gave his head a light shake, it was best to rid himself of such dark thoughts and focus on one task at a time.

Perhaps if Guy had known that the object of all his thoughts was also preoccupied with him as well, he might have rested easier. Shy had been counting the days, and to her best guess she knew that Archer and Guy must be returning to Nottingham soon, with or without Lord Waleran and his men, but she was optimistic, Waleran and Gavin were friends, surely they would not leave her without some amount of justice?

"You are distracted," Lady Thea said, giving Shy a light box about the head.

"Oh...sorry, my lady, I was thinking." Shy moved the food about on her plate with an uninterested eye.

"Something serious, you are never distracted when it comes to eating."

Shy had managed to steal some time away to be with her friend. They were sharing a light lunch before Shy had to go back to Lady Isabella's tent and tend to her needs. Shy gave a small smile and broke off a piece of bread and chewed slowly. "Always serious with me," she said between mouthfuls.

"Is it...is it of Gisborne?"

Shy had informed Lady Thea of her relationship with Guy from beginning to end, but still the lady did not quite know how best to bring him up around her. Shy nodded, no point in lying to save face from the woman who had taken care of her since childhood. "He is due back soon."

Lady Thea nodded, pale in the face. The idea of her role in life being disrupted was still hard on her, even if she bore no love for her husband, this new uncertainty was not easy to get used to. She had kept silent about Shy's true role in the keep, had berated her for her foolishness in committing to this scheme, and had praised her for her bravery, all in the same breath. "Does this disturb you?"

"Everything about that man 'disturbs' me," Shy chuckled. Her smile faded. "What if he will not have me again?"

"Oh, Shy..."

"No, my lady! I was cruel to him. I see that now. How could I have made him understand how important this is to me? He only wanted my safety, but you know, my lady, that it is impossible to govern me! I taunted him. I took the worst nightmare of his past and I spoke of it as if it was as frivolous a jest as any. I am the one person, the sole person, my lady, he relied on to be understanding and I failed in that."

Lady Thea was silent for a moment, her heart heavy for her friend's distress. "A weighty burden to carry on your own, being one man's sole comfort in the world."

"I do not mind it. I never minded it."

"Now there is a lie if ever I heard of one, Shy!" Lady Thea accused. "If you did not mind you would not be here now. You know I have been thinking ever since you first told me of Guy, I think you ran out of fear, Shy."

"What? How utterly...that's the most..."

"Give up the opportunity to live happily with the man you love for a half planned notion of revenge? Shy, come now."

Shy rose to her feet, "That is the most...ridiculous thing you have ever claimed, my lady!"

"Oh, sit down, Shy and don't pretend to be indignant with me. I know you. I know your mind, as twisted as it is, so there is no point in feigning insult," Lady Thea gestured for Shy to take up her seat.

Shy sat back down, a fearsome scowl on her face, a look she only had when she knew she was well and truly beaten. Lady Thea sighed, "When this is all over, and if this Sir Guy turns out to be anything less than the honorable man you have led me to believe he is, then we shall return to Rotherham together."

"Thank you, my lady, but I couldn't return to Rotherham. I couldn't bear stepping inside that manor again."

Lady Thea waved her away, "So we shall burn the furniture and buy it all anew."

Shy managed a laugh. "All right, my lady," she conceded, "It sounds like a fair plan to me."

It was at that moment a voice from just outside the tent called out, "Lady Thea?"

"Ah, our afternoon confession, do come in Father!"

A hooded monk emerged from behind the tent flap. He removed the hood as soon as he was inside. Friar Tuck had a unique way of entering the keep. As a man of the cloth he claimed to act in service of Lord Foster and his retinue for as long as he remained in Nottingham. No one would dare to question his daily intrusions and it provided him with ample reason to be seen speaking with Shy. "My child, to have any burdens troubling your soul this day?"

"Too many for you, Friar Tuck," Lady Thea said with a sly grin, "but my good friend here may have one or two quibbles of conscience."

"Indeed," Shy nodded, "for instance, are you aware that the former Sheriff of Nottingham is in fact a woman?"

Tuck frowned, "Yes, Lady Isabella. She was killed during the siege."

"She's far from dead."

"And how did you come to posses this information?" Tuck's tone took on a note of urgency.

"I have seen her. I am in her service while she is inspecting the construction of the castle." Shy was interrupted by a sudden oath that almost hinted towards the blasphemous. She blushed, not expecting such language from the friar. "She...she is very unwell, Tuck, she helped me out of a very bad situation and while I'm not saying I trust her, I am saying that she has not given me cause to fear her."

"Have you told her anything? Anything, about who you are or what you are doing here?"

"No..."

"Good. Do not reveal yourself. Not even in the slightest, do you understand? Above all things you must not mention your connection to Guy."

"I...what has Guy to do with this?"

"Lady Isabella is his sister."

"What?" Shy's face paled. She was grateful to be sitting down, for she felt her legs grow weak beneath her.

"Shy, listen to me, I must go back and warn the others. You need to keep a calm head and keep Isabella out of the way. Do not let on that you know her brother, she tried to kill him once and if she knew of you she would surely kill you as well."

"Kill...but..."

"I must go. Do you understand?"

"I...yes. Yes, I understand."

Shy watched Tuck hurry from the tent. She sat in silence for a moment, passing a hand over her eyes. She slumped back in her chair. "Oh Guy," she cursed under her breath, "how could you not tell me? How could you lie to me..."

Lady Thea reached for her friend's hand. "Shy? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Shy cleared her throat and sat up properly, blinking back the shine of tears. "I must go and see to Lady Isabella before she wonders where I have gone. Let us pray that she does not see the deceit written upon my face."

Shy walked in a daze. Guy had mentioned once before that he had had a sister. A sister that he had clearly thought of kindly, she had seen the guilt and regret in his eyes, that had not been a trick of the mind. Then how could the Lady Isabella mean to kill him and anything he held dear? It was not an impossible thought, Guy had neglected to tell her details of his past before. Perhaps this was too painful a subject. For a moment Shy felt a twinge of remorse for having accused him of lying to her. He had not lied, he simply could not tell her. No, Shy shook her head, that was no excuse. He had claimed to love her, he had wanted to share the rest of his life with her and yet he could not have worked up the courage to tell her of his past.

This was all a horrible business. She would be grateful when it was all over and done with and she could regain her life. Another twinge in the pit of her stomach; the life she would regain would be far different from when she left it. Guy accepting her back was a distant chance. If anything she was on her own now. Well, she would have Lady Thea, and that was far from being alone. As Lady Thea's companion, Shy could live out the rest of her life in peace, and at that moment as she crossed the grounds to Lady Isabella's tent, peace was all Shy wanted.

"Ah, there you are," Lady Isabella was seated upon a chair, holding up a mirror. She must have seen Shy enter through the reflection of the glass. "Brush out my hair. There is a comb just here, I would not usually ask a servant to perform so tedious a task, but..." she flexed her injured arm, her hand trembling as she curled her gloved fingers.

"Of course, my lady," Shy fought down the sour taste of bile as she approached Lady Isabella. She picked up the comb from off the edge of the table and set herself to brushing the dark locks of hair.

Isabella kept the mirror raised to look at herself as Shy worked. Shy tried not to stare at the face, now so new to her in light of the recent discovery. "Does it hurt, my lady? Your arm?" Shy asked as she cleared her throat.

"Like the devil," Lady Isabella said, "There's nothing to be done for it. I've had more than enough physicians tell me it will probably hurt for the rest of my life."

"Surely there is always something that can still be done, my lady."

"No, no...at any rate I hardly care. I rather like how it aches," Isabella laughed, "it reminds me I'm still alive while all those who tried to destroy me are now dead."

Shy swallowed hard and averted her eyes back to Lady Isabella's detangling hair. Isabella's eyes flashed in the mirror, examining the stressed line of Shy's lips and the creased lines upon her brow. "Have I said something to disturb you, Shy?"

"No, my lady."

"Oh, yes I have, I can see it," Lady Isabella purred like a cat who had just caught the mouse.

"Well, my lady," Shy had to think fast, "it is only I do not like the idea of you enduring such pain, after you helped to relieve me of my own."

Lady Isabella's scrutinizing look vanished as she smiled, putting down the mirror and turning back around to look up at Shy. "That is a kind thing to say."

"That is a true thing, my lady," Shy felt as if she would be ill at the look upon Lady Isabella's face. Even through the twisted scars upon her face Shy could now recognize why she had always felt the lady's smiles were so familiar. They were the very mirror of Guy's own. Lying to Isabella felt as bad as if she were lying straight at Guy.

"Shy, how would you like a position in my retinue?"

"I thought your ladyship already gave me a position?"

"No, I mean a more permanent one," Lady Isabella asked.

"Oh...I..."

"I will be leaving two days hence. I certainly see no reason why you should stay—but there is that look of doubt in your eyes again! Perhaps there _is_ a reason for you to want to stay?"

"No, my lady, I have no reason."

"Hm, well all right then, if you require time to think it over." Lady Isabella turned back around and picked up the mirror once more, "And Shy?"

"Yes, my lady?"

"Do not lie to me again. I don't appreciate being lied to, especially after everything I've done for you." Lady Isabella smiled into the mirror again, and for the first time Shy noticed the consuming darkness buried beneath the shine of her wolfishly white teeth.

* * *

"We have a problem!" Tuck shouted as he raised the awning leading into the camp. He was silenced at the sight of Archer and Guy communing with the rest of the gang.

"You're telling me!" Much interjected, "There's a dozen soldiers camping out nearby. Lord knows what we're going to do with them."

"What sort of problem, Tuck?" Archer asked, clasping hands with monk. "Much has already informed you we have more than enough resources to solve any hitch that should arise."

"Not this one," Tuck said, "Archer, I have just been to see Shy-"

"How is she?" Guy interrupted.

Tuck raised a hand for silence, "In time, my friend, she is well enough, but there are bigger matters to attend to. Archer, Isabella is alive and she is in Nottingham."

"_That_ is impossible," Archer swore, "I saw Robin shoot the arrow that ignited the fire! No one could have survived that!"

"Then someone is impersonating Isabella, but I think we had best stop believing in impossibilities, after all Guy survived."

"He was not caught up in an inferno!"

"Did you see my sister, Tuck?" Guy asked, his quiet voice causing both Archer and Tuck to turn their heads to him. The indignant panic in Archer seemed to go out of him.

Tuck shook his head, "but Shy spoke her name and said she was the Sheriff of Nottingham. It seems Isabella may have taken an interest, she has Shy employed in her service."

"God," Guy covered his mouth with his hand, uttering a curse behind it. "She'll kill her."

"No, she won't. I warned Shy not to inform Isabella of anything, especially her connection with you. For now she is safe," Tuck said, "and she will remain so now that we have the means to arrest Lord Foster. We can get her out tomorrow."

"Just what I was hoping you would say. Can you return to Nottingham, Tuck? I can not go because Foster will recognize me and Guy certainly can't show his face there without being killed on sight."

Tuck nodded, "I will."

"Guy, go alert Sir Gavin and the rest of the men of this new situation...Guy!"

Guy was looking without seeing. It was not so much the shock of the fact that his sister was alive, given that he had survived the impossible he could not be so surprised that an other would as well. But Shy was with her, and Isabella was unstable and cruel, even if Shy revealed nothing, if she managed to say one wrong thing that displeased Isabella in any way what was to stop her from hurting her on a whim? Archer's impatient snap called him from this new and frightening reality.

"What?"

"Go and see to the men!"

Archer bit his lip as he watched his brother leave the camp to find Sir Gavin. "We're all in trouble if that one doesn't keep his wits about him."

"I'd worry more about his sister's wits," Tuck retorted.

"Hopefully she is not given enough time to sink her claws in deep. Tell Shy to make sure the entrance into the keep is clear. We'll arrive at dawn, the sooner we get her out of there and Foster into custody the sooner we can plan on how to rid ourselves of Isabella. Hell's Gates, Tuck, doesn't this ever end?"

"From one challenge to the next, Archer, one ending is merely another beginning."

"You know sometimes I wish you weren't always so damn cryptic."

Tuck smiled, "Good luck, my friend.

"Same to you."

* * *

**A/N: Break time's over! Hope you're all still following along. Lots more to cover before it's all over! :)**


	36. A Break for Freedom

XXXVI

A Break for Freedom

Tuck could not reenter the keep without proper reason. He lingered just outside, talking to passersby while keeping one eye trained on the keep. The two guards standing at opposite ends of the open gate didn't pay him any mind. They knew him only as a simple man of the cloth who attended to the people of Nottingham. Tuck bided his time until he saw a way in, but with every passing moment it grew darker as the sun set. He needed to speak to Shy before the night was out, she would need time to put her own plans into action.

"Sir Brennan!" Tuck called out, spying him crossing the grounds. The knight stopped, looking out at Tuck with a curious expression. Tuck began to stride forward speaking swiftly to the two guards, knocked out of their minor stupor at the friar's shout. "May I enter, good sirs? I have business with your captain."

"Let him through, I was expecting him," Brennan vouched, and by this order the guards did not give any protest.

Tuck thanked them and made his way through to Brennan who took him by the arm, leading him away from the entrance, "I thought you already left Nottingham? What are you doing back here so soon?"

"Urgent business, Brennan. It seems the time has come to stop all of these whispers. Sir Guy and Archer have returned with soldiers. They intend to march on this keep at dawn. Where is Shy, I must speak to her?"

"She is with Lady Isabella, but do not worry I can relay your message to her," Brennan said in a rush, his face visibly pale. "You are certain your men will be here tomorrow?"

"Positive."

"And you are confident you can hold Lord Foster?"

"We have the backing of the Lord Waleran of Warwick, is that not confidence enough?"

"Tuck, you must assure me that this will work, it is not only my life I will be risking if this does not come together. Foster is certain to make a connection which implicates Shy in this. He will have her killed, do you understand?"

"I am aware of that, we have all been acutely aware of the precarious situation you and Shy have been placed in. Does Shy have a plan to distract the guards?"

"I believe so, but she will not tell me of it which leads me to believe that whatever it is I will not like it in the least, and I doubt you would too."

"I do not have to like it so long as it works. I can't stay long, see that you alert Shy. I must get back to my own men."

Brennan nodded, shaking hands with Tuck. "Of course, go then, I will do my best to help as much as I can, I promised that much."

"You are a good man, and I wish you luck."

Brennan gave a scornful laugh, "Do you know there are days I wish I was a bloody despicable soul instead of a mere good man. Ah well, luck to both of us. Now go before you attract any more attention to yourself."

Brennan did not look to see if Tuck had left the keep before he ran off in the direction of the Sheriff's tent. He was already racing through a myriad of ways he could request for Shy's presence without spooking Lady Isabella into refusing. Luckily, Shy was sitting just outside the tent, folding sheets into a basket which sat at her side. When she saw Brennan bounding over to her she waved, a small smile on her face, but upon seeing the paleness of his face and the stern look in his eyes, the smile faded. She stood up, rubbing her hands upon the apron she had tied about her skirts.

"What is it?" She asked in a hushed tone, wary of how close they were to Isabella's tent and knowing full well how the sound of their conversation might carry.

Brennan signaled Shy further from the tent. He bent down and whispered in her ear. "Lord Waleran granted your friends' request. Lord Foster is to be arrested at dawn."

Shy fought for breath and she clutched Brennan's coat clasps. "He sent soldiers with him?"

"Tuck just told me. He needs you to distract the guards." Brennan placed a hand against Shy's back to steady her.

"Then Archer and Guy have returned to Nottingham?" She could not mask the happiness in her voice. "He's here?"

Brennan winced and fought for control, he tightened his hold around Shy. "Yes."

"Then I must go! I...no...no I can't, Isabella would notice I was missing...I have to stay with her until she is asleep. No matter, that is still plenty of time."

"What are you planning?"

"A small diversion for our hardworking guards," Shy snickered, "Brennan, bring wine to the barracks, barrels of it. And be sure to gather as many of the men as you can."

"Shy, _what_ are you planning?"

"Don't fuss so!" Shy said, "It is under control."

"There is much about the sound of this plan that I do not like!"

"I promise I will be in no danger. The men will be so drunk they won't even be able to see straight, let alone think about harming me."

"Well you will be there as well, if anyone gets out of hand we can always knock them out. Brennan, while I'm with Isabella will you tell Lady Thea what is going to happen? I don't want her to be frightened if a fight breaks out."

"Lady Thea? Frightened? Now there's a sight I'd pay to see."

Shy laughed, "Brennan! Will you do this?"

"Yes, of course."

Shy blinked, realizing for the first time that she was locked in an embrace. "Brennan...you can let me go now."

"I don't think I can," Brennan said with a laugh of his own, hugging her tight, "I will never see you again after tomorrow," he whispered.

"Brennan..."

"And what am I going to do?" he said softly, kissing her cheek, "what am I going to do?" There seemed to be something else he wanted to say, but he could not find the words.

"You are going to carry on being the fine man I know you to be," Shy said, taking his head in her hands. "You will have other prospects aside from being a mere captain to a man so far beneath you, and there will be another woman for you to love...one far better than me."

"Shy, there is something I should tell you...something I should have told you for a long time."

"Brennan, can it wait?" Shy asked, "Can it wait until this is all over?"

Shy thought Brennan would object, but eventually the dejected man simply nodded his head. Shy squeezed his hand, "Thank you. And that's the most ridiculous thing you have ever said, thinking that you won't ever see me again! I won't allow that!"

Brennan sighed as she left him to hurry back to Isabella. "Believe me, Shy," he thought of what was still left unsaid between them, "you will never want to see me again...

Shy hurried back to the tent to begin the long wait in tedious obedience for Isabella to succumb to sleep. The sickly woman slept early in the evening, just as the sun sank fully into darkness. Shy helped her to her bed, and assured herself that she was fully asleep before she departed the tent for the night. As she stepped out onto the grounds she noted that there was a light in the door of the barracks by the keep's wooden battlements. Shy exhaled sharply, her breath fogging up around her. Her hand balled into a fist until she could feel the dull point of the scabbard tip of the dagger around her arm press into her wrist, assuring her that if anything did go wrong, she was not defenseless.

As Shy neared the barracks she could hear the sounds of rough conversation and bawdy laughter. It seemed Brennan had held up his end of the bargain in bringing in the barrels of wine. It was obvious the men had already tucked in with a will. Now it was her job to make sure the men staid in the barracks.

"My lords," Shy announced, sauntering into the room, "it seems I have been ignoring you all of late!"

Her bravado took everyone by surprise, but her pleasing swagger brought on a bought of roaring laughter from the men. She was tossed a tankard of her own. She filled it to the brim and then jumped up onto the table a few of the men were sitting at. She laughed and gulped down a mouthful of wine, letting some of the drink slosh out over the side to drip in sticky rivers down her chin and neck.

"Now, I'm in the mood for a little entertainment tonight, I'm sure you wouldn't want to disappoint me?" Shy pouted. The men all pledged they would never aim to disappoint her. Shy grinned.

There were jabs and whispers amongst the soldiers. It was not like Shy to be so obliging, usually she sat sullen in a corner and had to be dragged out. Was Lord Foster putting her up to this? Had he threatened to punish her in some way if she did not oblige the men for a night? And what had they done to deserve such a treat?

"A toast!" Shy cried, raising her tankard, "To you fine, good sirs. Your health!" Another mouthful of wine was gulped down. The cry was taken up and the men downed their tankards. Shy grinned around the rim of the cup as she watched a few of the men eagerly go to refill empty goblets and cubs. "And may all you bastards rot in the pits of hell," she whispered and took another drink for good measure. She looked over and saw Brennan standing in the far corner, his eyes were fixed on her and his hand was inches from his sword hilt. Shy gave him a small nod which was returned. It was going to be a long night.

* * *

Brennan took the morning watch at the gate, as the other men were far too intoxicated to properly guard anything. As the sun began to come up Brennan watched the street leading up to the keep for signs of troop movement. If Tuck's word had been true, he should expect to see soldiers marching up any time now.

He was not disappointed. Three men on horseback led a dozen or so men up to the keep. He recognized Tuck and the other outlaws marching with the soldiers, but the men on horseback were strangers to him, so when one of them unsheathed his sword Brennan was quick to hold up his hands in submission. "Steady on there, I've been expecting you lot."

"Guy, sheath your weapon!" Tuck called out, hurrying over to the man. "This is Sir Brennan, he's with us."

The man was reluctant to sheath his blade, but he did so under scrutiny of his two riding companions. "So, you are Sir Guy of Gisborne?" Brennan asked, "I've heard quite a lot about _you_."

Sir Guy sneered, "And likewise, Sir Brennan, I have heard all about you."

Brennan grinned up at the sullen looking man wishing he could knock the man right off his horse. Sir Guy was staring at him with equal malice. The tension was broken by Tuck's interference. "Where are the rest of Foster's men?"

"Probably off to sleep away the wine. I don't envy them the headache they'll have when they wake. Those that could manage are staggering about attending to their duties. I doubt you'll have much trouble with them," Brennan reported. As much as he hated to admit it, Shy's plan had worked.

"And Foster?"

"Still in his tent," Brennan extended his arm to signal them to follow him inside the keep. The three men dismounted and led their horses by the reigns, tying them off to posts near the wall.

There were a few of Foster's men alert enough to assume their duties, and while they stared bleary eyed at the small troop, they did not pay them too much heed, as Brennan was with them, and if this was their captain's business then it did not concern them unless they were ordered.

"What of Shy?" The question came from Gisborne.

Brennan had to speak through gritted teeth, "Shy went back to the Lady Isabella's tent sometime in the night. I could not follow her, as I had to make sure the men would be in no fit state to give you any problems."

Guy looked over at his two companions, clearly the other ringleaders of this operation. They both nodded and one of the men signaled to the soldiers. "Round up the guards and hold them for questioning."

"Guy and I will see to Lord Foster," the second man stated. "We meet back here when this is finished."

"What can I do?" Brennan asked.

"You? You can take Shy out of here. Meet us in the forest, Shy knows where our camp is."

Brennan nodded, enjoying the look of unease on Guy's face. He went to do as he was ordered.

Archer nudged his brother, "Don't look so sour, Gisborne," he said, "Work to be done."

The soldiers, led by Sir Gavin, were already away and capturing Foster's guards. The rest of the gang had gone with them, leaving Archer and Guy alone. The few tents which were reserved for the higher ranking soldiers, Isabella, and Foster and his wife were set to be explored, Archer and Guy being unaware of which one was Fosters.

Archer parted a tent flap with his sword, peering into the gloom. There was a small gasp of surprise from inside, "I think perhaps you are in the wrong tent, sir," chuckled a woman.

"Your pardon," Archer said.

"You'll be looking for my husband," Lady Thea remarked, sitting up on her pallet. She gestured to the left of her. "Go and arrest the devil!"

"With pleasure, my lady, sorry for the disturbance," Archer found himself grinning at the woman's reaction to his presence. He emerged from the tent and turned to Guy, tilted his head to the left, gesturing to the tent over. Quietly Guy unsheathed his sword and the two walked over.

Both men entered the tent this time, there was silence only broken by the heavy sound of a man sleeping. Guy stood looming over Lord Foster, he gripped the hilt of his sword. It would be so easy to run the man through where he slept. He kicked Foster roughly, jarring the man from his sleep with a muffled yelp of surprise and pain. "Get up," Guy growled.

"What...what is the meaning of this? Who are you?" Foster demanded, mind still foggy with sleep.

"I said get up!" Guy kicked at him again.

Dodging the kick, Foster rolled over and reached for his sword. He rose to his feet, pointing the blade at the two intruders. Archer merely shook his head, "You had best put that weapon down, my lord, lest someone gets hurt."

"What is it that you want? Money? I know who you are, you're Robin Hood's men."

"Correct, my lord, very good," Archer said, "but were not after your money. You have been charged with the crime of rape and the trading of Christian slaves. We are here to arrest you in the name of the King."

"What nonsense is this?" Lord Foster said, "I will see _you_ arrested for the assault of a steward appointed by Prince John himself! Guards!"

"Oh, I think you'll find your men won't be coming," Guy said.

Foster lunged at the two men, brandishing his sword. Archer swung his blade up to meet Foster's strike and with a deft twist, disarmed the man. Guy landed a punch to Foster's jaw, dropping his sword to grab him by the collar of his shirt. "Beginning to see sense, Foster?" He punched him to the ground. "Recollecting anything?"

"You will be _hanged _for this," Foster spat blood at Guy, a hand over his bleeding mouth and nose.

"I doubt that very much," Archer pointed out, "what with the evidence we have willing to speak out against you."

Foster's eyes seemed to spin open wider, tunneling darker as the full weight of what the two men alluded to sunk in. He grappled for his sword, a curse on his lips for being taken in for a fool. "I will kill that conniving little bitch."

Guy landed another punch across Foster's face. "No," he hissed, punching him again and again, "you are never going to touch her again."

"Guy..." Archer warned, seeing Foster's head loll helplessly back as blood poured from his broken nose. "Guy!" Archer shouted, seeing that Guy had no intention of stopping the beatings even after the man lapsed into unconsciousness.

At the shout Guy lowered his bloodied fist, his eyes wild as he released the collar of Foster's shirt, allowing him to rest upon the ground. "It's over, Guy," Archer said calmly, "Shackle his hands together and bring him outside. Let's see how he likes being chained up this time."

Silently, Guy did as he was told, carrying the unconscious lord out of the tent and depositing him against the wall of the keep with the rest of the guards. Judging from the array of cuts and bruises decorating both Foster's soldiers as well as Gavin's troops there had been a minor scuffle, but no one had been seriously injured.

"That's it then?" Much piped up. "We just...cart 'em to Warwick for the trial and then on to London?"

"Aye," Archer nodded, sheathing his sword. "Altogether too easy for my taste."

Guy was looking about with a disturbed expression upon his face. He scanned the keep, but there was no sign of Shy or his sister. Shouldn't Brennan have been back by now?

It was then that Sir Brennan came running into the keep. Why had he left in the first place. He was panting and sweat dripped from his brow. "Shy is gone..." he breathed, "Lady Isabella as well. When I went to her tent I saw they were missing. I checked elsewhere, but then I noticed...the Lady Isabella's carriage was nowhere to be found. I should have _noticed_ that! They're gone! They could have left anytime in the night. Shy could be well out of Nottingham by now!"

Guy's face turned as white as a sheet. He did not wait to hear the uproar of questions from the rest of the men. He ran for his horse, mounted it and went tearing off down the streets of Nottingham towards the main road leading away from the town and off into the forest.

"What...what is going on? Why would Sir Guy..."

Brennan's questions were cut off as Archer hurried for his own mount. Brennan followed, "Wait! What does all this mean?"

"It means we have all been played for fools and Shy is in far greater danger then you can possibly imagine. Best get your horse, Brennan. We're going to need all the help we can get." Archer kicked at his horse, urging him into a frenzied gallop. In mere moments, he was nothing but dust down the road.

* * *

**A/N: I swear, I PROMISE that Guy and Shy will reunite soon. Like next chapter soon. ;) So stay tuned. Don't forget to leave a review! **


	37. The Hostage

XXXVII

The Hostage

Shy sat opposite from Lady Isabella of Gisborne, the carriage rocking steadily down the road. She had been an utter fool thinking that she could trick Isabella into believing her. Last night when she had arrived back from the barracks she had been partially drunk, unable to keep up with the charade if she did not partake in part of the drinking. She had not been anticipating fending off a ruthlessly persistent inquisitor. She had misjudged her opponent. Isabella had been awake and waiting for her when she arrived. Shocked, Shy listened as Isabella informed her of how she had overheard pieces of Shy's conversation with Sir Brennan. Intrigued at the mention of one of the famed Nottingham outlaws, Isabella decided to wait and see exactly what her new servant was up to.

Shy had had no choice but to partially explain the circumstances surrounding her behavior. She told Isabella only that the outlaws had offered to rid her of Lord Foster in exchange for any valuable information she could give them. She did her best to make it sound as impersonal as she could, but either Isabella was having none of it, or she simply did not believe her protests. Senses dulled by drink, Shy could only weakly insist that she could not travel with Isabella, even as she was dragged to the carriage, and one of the servants was woken to drive.

Now, as morning light appeared through the windows of the carriage Shy felt her head clearing into gray, cold sobriety. "My lady..." she said softly, "where are you taking me?"

"To London," Isabella replied, "If what you told me is true, there is certain to be a trial. You shall bear witness and give your testimony and be on your way. Surely that is what you wanted?"

"Yes, but...but there is to be a trial first at Warwick, then a council is to be summoned in London. I was to be taken to Warwick by...by the outlaws, my lady," Shy said.

"Led into a city by a band of wanted outlaws? How ridiculous! You are lucky I don't charge you with associating with enemies of the Prince," Isabella laughed.

"My lady, you know none of this has to do with you," Shy said, "I did not even know you were alive when I agreed to this."

"And I, likewise, did not know you were a spy."

"My lady can you not just let me go? I will not speak of anything that has happened. I'll not tell the outlaws where you are! Please!" Shy begged, hoping the desperation in her voice showed.

"Now Shy, it sounds as if you have some other reason to want to stay on in Nottingham," Isabella slowly pulled out a dagger from her sleeve, she held it up to her face, twirling the blade with her good hand, letting the sun catch the iron shine. "Is that true?"

"I wish to know if the job is done. I wanted to be there to see it, my lady," Shy shrank back against her seat, restraining herself from reaching into her own sleeve and retrieving her own weapon.

"I do really want to believe that, Shy," Isabella said. "And I think you think you are telling the whole truth."

"I am, my lady!"

"No, there is something missing. Something I am not yet seeing, so you will be staying with me. Don't fret, I won't harm you. You know we are quite alike you and I? Yes...quite alike."

"My lady...please put that knife away! If you say you do not want to harm me then why hold me against my will? Why take out a weapon? Please, my lady, anything I did was done for my own sake."

Shy felt a shudder race through her as Isabella compared herself to her own plight. Shy tried to find a madness in those eyes, but all she saw was cold calculation and bitter sanity. Shy swallowed the bile building up in the back of her throat. "My lady," she began to say in far less of a coddling tone one would use to talk to a mad person, "just let me go. The outlaws will come for me. I think you know this."

"I am counting on that, yes," Isabella replied. She had stopped twirling the knife. She had placed it upon her lap, no longer threatening her.

"That is only asking for trouble, my lady. I don't want to see any harm come to you, I really don't," Shy surprised herself with how much she meant that. "You saved me once because there was a kindness in you, you can save me again. I will tell them not to go after you, if that is what you fear. They will listen to me."

"Really?" The knife went up again, "and why would they be inclined to listen to you?"

"We are friends, I think, my lady. They helped me and I aided them. They will have to listen to me. They will owe me."

Isabella scoffed at the notion of remaining friends with the outlaws. She turned her head so that she stared out the window. "When we arrive at the next village I will...let you go where you will. Do not ask for more."

Shy sighed, thanking the Lord she had managed to reach Isabella's compassionate side at last. The compromise was a decent one, she was not so far out of Nottingham to not make her way back before the day was out, and if she did not make it to the town she could at least make it back to the camp in Sherwood. Archer and the others would return there eventually. Shy nodded her head, her mouth dry. "Thank you, my lady." Isabella did not acknowledge her thanks, she simply stared silently out the window. Shy frowned, struck by the pang of empathy welling within her. By rights she should be furious for this kidnapping, but all she could summon was a half-hearted annoyance. She saw herself, Shy realized, she saw how she had looked all those years imprisoned under Lord Foster, she saw the maddening fury and the hopeless sorrow.

"My lady..."

The horses outside gave a whinny of terror and suddenly the carriage was jerked to a stop. Shy nearly tumbled from her seat, Isabella winced at the jarring motion and clutched at her injured arm. Outside, Shy could hear the pounding of horse hooves and the frightening protests of the servant accompanied by a frantic shouting.

"Guy!" The name left Shy in such a shock she could not register the grave error she had just made. Immediately, she locked eyes with Isabella who appeared stricken at the mention of her brother. Shy's face paled and she was about to try and find some way of explaining herself when Isabella bridged the gap between them, bringing her against her chest, the dagger at her throat.

The carriage door was opened almost at this very same moment. Isabella found herself staring directly at the figure of the brother she long thought dead and buried underneath the rubble of Nottingham Castle. There was only a fraction of a second for the two siblings to get over the shock of seeing one another alive. Isabella pressed the dagger against Shy's flesh, "Stay where you are!"

It was clear that Guy wasn't going anywhere. "Isabella, let her go."

"Why so you can arrest me as well?" She snarled.

"My lady, what are you doing? You said you would release me!" Shy asked. Isabella wasn't pressing the blade hard enough against her skin to cause her to bleed or feel any discomfort at all. Was she trying not to hurt her? In which case she was reacting out of fear and desperation.

"You...you knew my brother was alive," Isabella spat, "and yet you lied to me. I wonder what you have told her about me, Guy!"

"He hasn't told me anything!" Shy said, "I swear. He's just a part of the gang like the others. He helped me to arrest Foster, that's all! He's nothing to me, my lady apart from an ally. Don't do this!"

Isabella could see Archer and the captain of Foster's guard, Brennan. Guy was monopolizing any effort to help, blocking the carriage door as he did. "This is between you and me, Isabella," he said, he did not even look at Shy. "Shy has nothing to do with this."

"But she does," Isabella said with a thin laugh. "She has allied herself with you, she has made this her fight as well."

"She hasn't Isabella," Archer said from behind Guy. "You can not blame the girl for seeking help when she had no choice."

"He's right," Shy said. "You are trying to defend yourself, I know, my lady. We can give you our word we will not give chase. Just leave me here with them."

"That we can do, Isabella," Archer said.

"And since when has your word counted for anything!" Isabella, snapped at him. "And yours even less so," she added to Guy.

"It is not their word you need to trust. It is mine." Shy felt Isabella press the knife harder against her throat as soon as Guy dared to reach out a hand for hers. Shy hissed at the pinprick of pain.

"I cannot," Isabella said, a note of apology in her voice.

"Then I am truly sorry, my lady," Shy said. Without warning she reached for Isabella's limp and injured arm, twisting it with cruel force. Isabella fell back with a scream of pain which chilled Shy. Shy scrambled from her clasp as the woman clutched at her arm. Guy caught her with a gasp and helped her down from the carriage. Shy did not allow her arms to linger about Guy's body, but she willed the man to feel the caress in her hands as she released him.

Shy looked up at him and noticed he was smiling at her. A sense of overpowering relief swept through her body. The nightmare of going back to Foster dimmed for a moment, the panic of losing Guy to her hastily spoken, and spiteful words vanished.

There was the stinging sound of metal singing through air, then the dull sound as it struck into its intended target. At first the sound seemed odd to Shy's ears, and even odder was the sight before her. Guy staggered back away from the carriage, his hands clutching a hilt of a dagger which had buried itself in his side. That was not right. That could not be right. There was a scream of fear unlike anything Shy had ever heard ringing in her ears, it took her a moment to realize it was coming from her own mouth. Guy crashed to the ground and from inside the carriage, Isabella began to laugh. Archer shouted something Shy could not comprehend and he launched himself into the carriage, to tackle Isabella into submission. Brennan was kneeling beside Guy's body, surveying the damage done. It was only at Guy's pain-filled whimpering at being moved which managed to shake off Shy's shock. She hurried to him, nearly knocking Brennan to one side.

"Shy..." Guy said, his voice whisper soft and tight with pain.

"Hush," Shy surprised herself at how steady her voice sounded while the rest of her trembled, "Let me see."

The dagger was buried up to the hilt. Shy dared not pull it out. She had no means of stopping the bleeding in time. "Not too bad," she told him, lying through her teeth. "I've seen worse on you." Guy smirked at that last comment.

"What can we do?" Brennan asked as Archer came over, leading a bound, gagged, and unconscious Isabella over to them. He deposited her onto the floor. "Shy?" Brennan asked again, seeing the silent panic paralyzing her, "What can we do?"

"Oh...yes...I...I need to get him somewhere inside. I...I need supplies..."

"Locksley is closest, but that's long down the road. Can we get him there in time?" Archer asked.

"I don't know," Shy whispered, "I don't know...if the knife is moved it will cause further damage...but, I don't..."

Guy reached for Shy's hand, he hushed her as she had him. Shy felt the ball of tears wax hot in her eyes, but she forced them down. Her throat was constricted and tight. She couldn't breathe, couldn't speak. The gentle motion of Guy's thumb tracing up her wrist to the base of her fingers calmed the panic fogging her mind. She gave her head a little shake. "I will need a fire," she said looking up at the two men.

Brennan was the first to respond. "I will go," he said as he rose to his feet, disappearing into the wood.

"And what can I do?" Archer asked.

Shy unsheathed her own dagger, "Help me cut around the knife. I need to get his coat and tunic off." She made a tear along the side of the coat, sawing her way in a circular pattern around the hilt of the knife. Archer assisted with a blade of his own and soon, coat was removed and tunic was able to be pulled up and over the wound. For the moment there was only a thin trickle of blood from where the knife was imbedded in him, but Shy knew the moment she removed the blade more blood would come, fast and as furious as water pouring from a crumbling dam. Guy was still awake, and still coherent. "What I will have to do...it will be painful," she told him. She looked over at Archer, "When Brennan returns with the wood, and after the fire is started I will need you to place a sword into the flames. It must be heated until it is glowing red, understand?" Archer nodded.

Brennan crashed through the trees with a bundle of sticks and fallen branches. "Will this do?" he asked, breathless.

"It will have to," Shy said. "Quickly, get a fire going as hot as you can make it."

Without another word Brennan went to the packs still attached to one of the horses and rummaged about for flint. Archer unsheathed his sword and went over to assist Brennan. Guy gripped Shy's hand harder, bringing her focus back to him. "How are you?" he asked her. "Are you...unhurt?"

Shy felt laughter bubble to the surface. "You are lying here with a dagger in your side and you ask _me_ if I am unhurt? Oh, Guy!"

"Will you not answer the question?"

"Not now I won't."

Shy could see from Guy's face that he took this avoidance as confirmation of his worst fears. His face fell and he gripped her hand with renewed fervor. Seeing this Shy gasped, "No! No, Guy I was not hurt. Please don't think otherwise, please."

He did not seem to believe her. Shy leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. Guy tried to raise his head to keep his mouth to hers, but he could not. "Content yourself with this answer," Shy whispered.

Tedious minutes passed as the fire was lit and the sword heated in the flames. "We are ready!" Archer called out.

Shy fumbled with the sheath to her dagger. The straps were difficult to untie in her present state. The breath would not come properly to her lungs and her fingers felt cold and alien to her. At last the straps fell away and she pulled the sheath from the sleeve of her dress. "Bite down on this," she advised Guy, placing the straps in his mouth.

Archer came over with the sword, it glowed a hellish red. It was hard to remember that the use of that sword could save Guy's life. Shy had the sudden urge to throw the sword aside and not let it touch him. "You must prepare yourself," she said to Guy. He only nodded, his body having already grown ridged at the oncoming pain.

Shy placed her hand upon the dagger's hilt. "When I pull this out you must quickly place the flat of the blade against the wound. Hold it there until I tell you to move," she explained to an ashen-faced Archer. "Ready?" He nodded.

Shy pulled upward and felt the blade come away. Immediately blood began to rush out of the wound to stream down Guy's body. Archer wasted no time, as soon as he caught sight of the bleeding he pressed the red-hot sword against the open wound. There was a hiss and a rise of smoke. The sickly, sweet smell of burning flesh hit both Archer and Shy full on. Guy screamed into the leather straps, biting down hard and squeezing Shy's hand even harder. He tried to kick out in an instinctual effort to get away from the maddening pain, but Shy held him down, doing her best to keep him still, hushing him all the while, her voice weak and her face a pale green. She could only signal to Archer with a small wave to move the sword. An ugly burn now replaced the open wound. The healthy skin which had surrounded the wound was red, blistered and painfully raw, but at least the bleeding had stopped.

"We must get him back to Locksley," Shy said. "Lady Thea will have medical supplies there and she can help me."

"But how will we get him there?" Brennan hazarded the question. "He can't very well ride in his condition."

"He won't have to," Archer said brightly. "We have a carriage at our disposal!"

Shy had forgotten about the carriage. "Help me carry him to it!"

Brennan and Archer managed to lift Guy and carry him toward the carriage. Shy jumped inside, helping the men set him down. Shy sat with Guy's head in her lap, her arms about him. Archer spoke as calmly as he could to her. "Isabella will ride with me and Brennan is going to drive the carriage, seeing as my sister's servant seems to have run off. Oh well, I'm sure we'll see him fleeing for the authorities somewhere down the road. Poor fellow, doesn't know I am the only authority in this shire at the moment. Will you be all right?"

"Yes," Shy assured him. "The sooner we get back to Locksley the better."

"Right, and don't worry about this one dying," Archer said with forced confidence, "He's far too much in love with you to leave you." He winked and shut the carriage door.

"Meddlesome bastard," Guy groaned, his voice hoarse from screaming.

Shy could not help the small laughter which emerged. Guy was shivering from shock and Shy wished she had a blanket she could place over him. She wished also she had had clean bandages to cover the wound with, and water to clean it. She wished she had Lady Thea's medicines with her so that she could dull his pain. All she could do was hold him to steady him and minimize the shocks of the unkempt road. Guy looked up at her, his eyes unusually clear.

"Forgive me."

"I want to," Shy said, brushing his hair away from his sweat-soaked brow. "Just as I want you to forgive me. But if I were to forgive you absolutely right now it would only be because I am so scared of losing you."

Guy sighed, closing his eyes briefly as exhaustion began to take its toll on his weary body. Shy continued weaving her fingers through his hair. It was an action which seemed to soothe him and calm the tremors. Shy could see Guy's face was a mask of pain. "I think you planned this. I think this was all a part of your scheme. Get hurt to make me feel guilty for leaving you so that I would spoil you something terrible."

"Is it working?" Guy asked, cracking one eye open.

"Might be," Shy said shakily, her breath hitching in her throat. She took his hand and kissed it.

Soon talking became too much of an effort and Shy let Guy rest in silence. He refused to sleep; however, as if he knew that Shy would wake him if he did. If he closed his eyes it was only for a moment or two before he blinked them open. Shy's face was nearly as white as his own. She could see him getting worse with each moment. The hold about her hand became weaker and weaker. Even as he shivered Shy could feel him burning. How long before the mounting fever made him delirious?

"Stay with me." It was a pathetic, whispered plea. She must have sounded like a child.

Guy could not answer. He turned his head towards her and gave her hand a small squeeze. At first Shy thought he was merely trying to assure her he would be all right, but when his grip refused to slack off she realized he was anchoring himself to her.

"I love you," she said as if this was what he was merely waiting for her to say, and at the very words he would be made well again.

Guy moved her hand so that it rested over his heart and Shy could not help the shuddering laugh at the gesture. His heartbeat was still strong. Shy took courage from that. She blinked back tears still unwilling to be shed. She had brought him back from the brink of death once before. Guy stared up at her, and Shy noted the resolve in his gaze. He managed a small smirk. A look of defiance? Shy felt her own strength returning. He was not going to leave her. She was not going to let him.

* * *

**A/N: Ahehe...Well and least Shy and Guy are finally together right? Right...? *Runs like hell* **


	38. Waking Nightmares

XXXVIII

Waking Nightmares

By the time the carriage made it into the village of Locksley Guy was lost in fever. Shy had checked the wound several times, it was not infected. It must be the pain and shock that was bringing his sickness about. That was fine. Pain she could handle, infection...better not to think of that possibility. The shivering worsened, but Shy heard no delirious ravings from Guy, indicating that he was still in his right mind.

When the carriage stopped Shy had the sickening thought that something had gone wrong, and they were stuck still in the middle of Sherwood with a broken wheel or axle and with no means of getting to Locksley and shelter in time for her to help Guy. Brennan opened the door. "We're here. Archer is chaining Isabella up in the stables. I'll help you with Gisborne."

"Thank you, Brennan," Shy sighed, practically trembling herself.

As Brennan came to help raise Guy to his feet, the injured man shoved him to the other side of the carriage with a force his companions might have thought impossible given his current state.

"Don't you come near her," Guy snarled, his voice cracking oddly. He wrapped an arm about Shy, bringing her close to him. He fixed Brennan with a cold, tunneling stare. "I'll kill you! I'll kill you if you touch her!" His hand fumbled for the hilt of a sword that was no longer with him.

"Guy it's all right," Shy told him calmly. "Brennan is a friend, he's trying to help."

"That is not Brennan!" Guy spat, his eyes fixated on the man, "That is Foster. He's trying to trick you."

Shy gave a terrified cry as Guy struggled to sit up. She wrapped both arms about him and grappled with him to get him to lie still lest he cause more damage to himself. Brennan lunged forward, pinning Guy down, which was no easy task as in a state of delirium Guy thought him to be Foster. After a round of flailing, curses, and urges from Shy that Brennan really was who he said he was, they managed to calm Guy down enough to help him from the carriage. Archer was waiting for them and he assisted Brennan in carrying Guy into the manor. Shy barely had time to register her new surroundings. She hurried into the manor house directly behind the two men.

"Clear a table!" She called out as they entered. "Lay him down carefully."

In a shower of plates, goblets, and candle-holders, Archer swept a table clean enough to place Guy down upon it. The servants were in a state of uproar. Over the last few months they had grown used to the outlaws sudden appearances, but the sight of their one-time lord and master once again in the manor, albeit in no state to terrorize anyone, set the whole household on edge. Archer and Brennan stood mutely beside the table while Shy ordered the servants about with an almost brutal energy. "You there, fetch me some clean cloths and bandages! You, get a fire started and boil some water. Fetch me a needle and thread, catgut. Don't have any? Well go and find me some and don't you dare come back until you've got it! And you, find me any poultices, herbs, and healing supplies you have. Any of it! Why are you standing around? _Get out of my way!" _The tirade continued until all the servants were set scurrying to complete their respective tasks. No one questioned who she was. If she was with Archer then she must be someone connected with the rest of the outlaws, and since Archer seemed not to object to any of her orders neither did they.

Satisfied that very soon she would have the proper tools with which to care for Guy, Shy set herself to examining the full extent of the damage done to Guy by the dagger along with the branding from the sword. Her eyes flickered from side to side as remedy after remedy tried to pour into her brain. First she would need to reopen the wound to assess what damage had been done inside and sew up what she could, just as she had done when Guy had been run through. With the cloth she should be able to keep control of the bleeding...she hoped. Next would be to care for the burn wound. The raw flesh could easily become infected if she could not properly clean and dress it in time. She needed help with this. "Where is Lady Thea?" she asked Archer.

"With the others in Nottingham."

"I need you to go and bring her here. You might as well bring them all here."

Archer nodded. "Suppose we could chain Lord Foster up with Isabella."

"What did you do with her?"

Archer grinned, "Chained her up in the stables. Don't worry, she won't be going anywhere."

She felt sick at the idea of that injured woman being shackled to a rough, hay-covered and cold stable. How many nights had she, herself spent shivering inside of a stable? No, she could not think of Isabella's pain. She could not afford to.

Guy reached out and caught Shy's arm. "I'm sorry," he said, a fading lucid look in his eyes.

Shy patted his hand, "It's all right. You'll be all right."

"I had to be sure...I had to protect you..."

How dare she be wasting her energy feeling remorse for Isabella! "Well, now it's my turn," she said.

Clean cloth, a basket of bandages, a kettle of hot water, and a box containing all the medical supplies to be found were placed on the edge of the table for Shy's uses. Still no needle or proper thread yet, but Lady Thea would have those, if she could wait until she arrived to help. The least Shy could do now was properly clean the wound. She rummaged about through the box of supplies first, reading each labeled jar until she found what she was looking for. She tipped the small jar over, letting some of its liquid contents drizzle out onto her fingers. Carefully, Shy spread the draught over Guy's lips, coating them lightly. "I can't give you anymore than that without poisoning you," she told him as he licked the draught off, "but it will help with the pain." And that was the worst of it for her, watching him look at her with those pain-filled eyes. After waiting a few minutes to be sure the draught had taken effect, Shy began to clean the wound.

By the time Archer returned with the rest of the gang, Lord Foster and the prisoners, Sir Gavin and his men, and Lady Thea, Shy had busied herself with making a poultice for the burn. She nearly dropped pestle and bowl when Lady Thea barged in, having been fully briefed on everything that had happened. She was carrying a small ornate chest, which Shy recognized as being Thea's medical box.

"My lady..."

Lady Thea brushed aside Shy's arms and placed the box down. She opened it swiftly and began to pull out both needle and the precious catgut thread Shy had requested. "Let me see the wound," Lady Thea said.

Shy stepped aside to allow the more experienced healer access to Guy. She felt rather like a child again when Lady Thea would have her assist in treating the sick or the injured that would come to a special ward Lady Thea had set up just outside of the manor. As a child she would stand mutely by, handing Lady Thea any supplies and fetching anything that was requested of her. Now, Shy watched in equal mute attention as Lady Thea's skilled hands examined Guy's injury. "This is neatly done, Shy," Lady Thea muttered.

Shy did not find anything she had done to be at all neat or clean. The memory of the sound Guy had made when Archer held the flat of the burning blade to his flesh still caused the ground to sway underneath her.

"I still need to reopen the wound, my lady...see what damage has been done. I needed another's hands and eyes for help, so I waited..."

"Of course, and he has already been drugged for the pain?" Lady Thea asked as she ran the blade of a knife once over the flame of a candle, prepping the weapon.

Shy nodded. She had never felt ill during times like these. She had seen men with gashes in their legs down to the bone and had not felt this wave of sickness in her. Trying her best to ignore it, Shy began to thread the needle. Lady Thea set the knife down momentarily and took Shy's hands, which were trembling so badly she could barely hold the needle in them. "No, no, I can handle this just fine on my own. You've done enough for now. Ah, I see you've already made plenty of poultices for the burn. Well done." Lady Thea stroked Shy's head. "You go get yourself cleaned up. I'll will send for you when I need you."

"I can't leave him, my lady," Shy whispered.

"Yes you can. By the time you return I will have him bandaged and resting. Now, go, leave me to it, my shy one."

"Do as she says," Guy said weakly.

Shy gave a reluctant shake of her head. Guy lacked the energy to reach out for her. Instead he managed to have his fingers brush against her arm in a feather-light touch of confidence. Shy kissed his cheek. "Be here when I get back."

"I will."

Lady Thea chuckled humorlessly as she threaded the needle herself. "For your sake you better hope so, because if you even think about leaving her I will kill you myself."

* * *

Shy had removed the torn and bloody blue dress. After methodically cleaning herself and braiding her black hair so that it hung below her shoulder she was given a change of clothes. The only change available was the simple dress of a servant girl, but Shy was not particularly mindful. She dressed and made haste to get herself back to Lady Thea and Guy.

As she came down the stairs she saw Lady Thea slowly putting her medical supplies back into her box and closing the lid slowly with a long sigh. Guy was lying very still upon the table, bandages wrapped tight about the wound, but his eyes were closed and from Shy's angle he did not appear to be breathing. Shy ran down the stairs, feeling her heart screaming inside of her chest. "Is he..? How is...? He's not..."

Lady Thea placed a hand atop Shy's shoulder. "He's merely sleeping, Shy. He's fine."

"Is he?" Shy questioned. "Is he really?"

When Lady Thea did not meet Shy's eyes Shy felt the strength go out from under her. Lady Thea managed to steady her from fainting. "These kinds of wounds can be very tricky, Shy, you know that. The knife penetrated deeper than I thought. But Guy is far from a weak man, the odds of his surviving are very good, Shy."

Shy was not looking at Lady Thea as she spoke to her. She was staring at Guy's prone body, a feeling of helplessness washing over her. She took his hand in hers. "We should move him to a bed," she said numbly, "...make him comfortable so he can rest properly."

"That is a good idea," Lady Thea said, "I'll get Archer and Tuck to help me move him."

Shy followed Lady Thea like a shadow. She stood awkwardly off to the side as Lady Thea fetched Archer and Tuck who were in the foyer with the rest of the outlaws and Sir Gavin. Gavin was seated in a chair closest to the entrance hall and when Shy came to stand aside he managed to give the sleeve of Shy's dress a gentle tug. Shy stared down at him, at first not registering who was staring up at her with a kind smile. When recognition dawned it was with a grateful expression and swift grasp of the hand. This look of animation died as soon as Lady Thea, along with Archer and Tuck, left the foyer. Shy trailed behind, her eyes dimming once again.

As soon as Guy had been laid upon the bed, Shy pulled up a chair from the corner of the bedchamber and brought it to his side. "Lady Thea," she called, her voice strangely distant. "Have the servants send up a pitcher of water and a bowl. And as soon as more bandages are clean have them brought up to me as well. And the medicine."

"Shy, you should come away now and get some rest. I'll see to it that Guy is well looked after."

There was no response from the woman who was sitting half off of the chair. Her hand holding Guy's. Her eyes were still wide, disbelief pooling heavily in the turbulent gray. When she spoke next it was in a persuasive whisper. "Please have the servants send up the water and the bandages."

"Shy..."

Lady Thea gripped Archer's arm, stopping him from arguing with the woman. She shook her head and led both Archer and Tuck from the room, shutting the door behind them. All three started in surprise as they saw Sir Brennan coming half-way up the stairs. He must have been following them.

"Will you excuse me for a moment?" Lady Thea asked Archer and Tuck, who nodded and departed down the staircase to update the somber party below.

"I came to see how Shy was..." Brennan told Lady Thea. "Is she in there?"

"Yes, and you are to come back downstairs with me," Lady Thea insisted.

"My lady, how is she?"

Lady Thea sighed, running a hand through her hair, uncoiling a braid and letting the loose strands hang about her forehead in a tangled clump. "Truthfully, Brennan? I have never seen her like this before. It is like watching her move about while in one of her waking nightmares."

"But, Shy has had moments like that before. She has always woken from them in time."

"This is different."

"No. I have always brought her back. If anything should happen to Gisborne, I will be there. I will make sure she is restored to herself," Brennan said.

Lady Thea gave his arm a swift tug as she led him down the stairs in a hurry to get away from the door to the bedchamber. "You must not wish that, Brennan, you of all people. Shy could be restored because she did not want to live in those dreams. She wanted to come home. If she loses Guy we will lose her too. I can see the signs. I know her best, I know when she is thinking of running and she is scared now. She is running away in the only way she knows how. If you love her Brennan, you will think of nothing but ways to make sure Gisborne survives!"

"Ask me to do anything else," Brennan said, his voice constricted.

"Oh, men and your stubborn pride!" Lady Thea cursed. "I will need you to watch Shy. Don't let her exhaust herself and do herself a harm. She will listen to you."

Brennan nodded, accepting his duties. Lady Thea thanked him and together they entered the foyer. Blankets and pallets had been set up around the room, circling about the lit hearth. It was clear no one had any intention of going anywhere that night. Lady Thea sighed, addressing people eager to hear of any news. "Now for the long wait."

* * *

For the first three days of Guy's recovery Shy was rarely seen outside of Guy's bedchamber. Her perch was the little chair at his bedside, ready to assist in whatever function Lady Thea needed. She was still too frightened to do anything independently and did not trust her own shaking hands to any tasks other than redressing his wound, or occasionally making up new poultices and draughts for the pain.

Guy hardly woke, and if he did it was only for a few minutes at a time before he was reclaimed into unconsciousness due to exhaustion or pain. Lady Thea did not like these sudden bouts of endless sleep, but it was not until the fourth night that things began to take a turn for the worse.

Lady Thea had managed to coax Shy away from Guy's side for a few minutes in order to see to it that she was properly fed. She did not trust that Shy was getting the right amount of food, even under Brennan's watchful care, and the dark circles under her eyes were a testament to how much sleep she was managing to get. Lady Thea ladled a helping of soup into Shy's bowl herself, such was her determination to see her eat. When Shy had been a child Shy had been shocked at the idea of the noblewoman serving her and in her gratitude she had eaten. Since then, whenever Shy had had one of her days when she seemed to trapped in a nightmare only she could see, this was how Lady Thea managed to bring her round for a moment or two. Only now Shy remained staring out past the kitchen table and down the hall, her frail arms in her lap looking as useless as kindling.

"Eat!" Lady Thea barked causing Shy to jump.

Shy reached for the spoon out of instinct and slowly began to scoop small mouthfuls of the warm soup into her mouth. Lady Thea was beginning to think she had broken through some of Shy's shock when an ear-splitting roar echoed down the hall, causing Shy to forget the food before her and any returning color in her cheeks to drain.

"Wait!" Lady Thea pleaded, sensing that Shy was about to bolt down the hall and back towards Guy's chambers.

Shy did as she was told, staring at Lady Thea, unable to disobey her. Her eyes shifted waiting for another scream, a sign she was needed so desperately she could think of ignoring an order from her old mistress.

"_SHY!_"

Guy's scream was enough of a cue.

Shy went tearing out of the kitchen and back towards the bedchambers, Lady Thea following hard on her heels. Shy pushed open the doors and saw Guy thrashing about in the bed, tangled in the sheets, eyes open, staring. Sweat covered his face and his hair was matted to his head. He turned his head when he saw the door open. He relaxed, shaking. He struggled to right himself so he could sit up.

Shy gently pushed Guy back down, hushing him.

"Shy! I thought you left...I thought you were gone..."

"No. No I'm right here. Where would I go?"

As she spoke to him, Lady Thea managed to check to make sure Guy hadn't torn any of his stitches in his attempt to raise himself from the bed.

"Don't. Don't go..." Guy clutched at her arm in a panic as Shy shifted her weight from one leg to the other. Shy reached for the chair and pulled it up closer, sitting down in it, assuring Guy that she wasn't going anywhere.

"No. I'm here." It was the most lucid Shy had been in the past few days. She seemed calm and controlled. Her eyes no longer swimming in some distant haze. She held onto Guy with as much fervor as he clung to her.

Carefully, Shy snuck her hand over to the vial of the sleeping draught she had left on the drawer. She raised it to Guy's lips, having him drink some of it down. He did so in a furious gulp, not understanding what it was he was drinking. He was soothed to stillness at Shy's caress, her hand upon his cheek, her fingers tracing over his brow.

"Don't leave."

"I won't."

When Shy had gotten Guy back to sleep she seemed to revert back to her former dazed state, only this time far more shaken then before. Lady Thea was dabbing at the wound with one of the vials of medicine. Shy had not paid attention to which, although now she did. Vaguely she thought she recognized the herb. Lady Thea redressed the wound and smoothed out the quilts over Guy's body. "He needs rest."

Something was wrong in her speech.

"If he wakes again give him more of the sleeping draught."

She was avoiding eye-contact.

"My lady?" Shy asked softly, "what is going on?"

Lady Thea was already at the door, she turned to her friend as she opened it, tears brimming in her eyes. She did not want the already fragile woman to see them. "The wound is infected. He is already burning with the fever." Lady Thea's voice broke as she spoke. "Pray very hard, Shy. Guy may not survive the night."

* * *

**A/N: *Flees again* XD**


	39. Over the Abyss

XXXIX

Over the Abyss

Shy could not stop herself from laughing. She startled Lady Thea at this response to the news of Guy's infection and fever. She stared over at her friend, her eyes vicious and her mouth curved in a mocking smile. "Of course the wound has become infected! In the slave cart without proper tools to clean the wound he survives without infection because I did not care if he lived or died. Now that I need him..." her laughter suddenly stopped and a horrified expression took its place, a frightened and abandoned woman sat where the manic one had. "Now that I _need_ him..." It was as if she was realizing this for the first time. She could not finish her former thought.

"God would not be so cruel," Lady Thea whispered, tears streaming down her face at her friends display of emotional turmoil. "He would not be so cruel as to deny you a life with someone you love. Not now."

There was a scratchy laughter from Shy. "God!" She spat. "For years I tried to believe that God would not be so cruel as to give me so wretched a life. God does not care for me. I go from slavery to loving a man who believes himself so out of favor with Him. Oh, my lady, God is that cruel!"

"You can not say that, Shy, not now."

"I can! I will!" Shy shouted. "Only God would will it so that a wound that has been cared for and attend to with so much diligence would become infected!"

"Shy, will you spend these next few hours raging at the Lord or asking for his help?" Lady Thea asked calmly. "You need to prepare yourself."

"Oh get out! _Get out!_" Shy cried. "Guy is not going to die. Do you understand me? I brought him back from death once before. Not God! _I will not let him die!_"

Seeing that Shy only had curses and shouts to spare, Lady Thea abandoned her with a gentle shutting of the door. Shy was left alone in the room. Guy was still asleep, but he was growing fitful once again. His body twitching, his head tossing from side to side in the midst of a fevered dream.

Shy inhaled deeply. She looked at him, the moment she drank in his helpless figure she felt the roar of a haze begin to envelop her. Nothing was going to happen. Her limbs felt lethargic, she could even doubt the image before her if she tried. This was not happening. This could not be happening. She could not stay and watch this! She had to get away! She had to get away!

Guy whimpered in his sleep, wincing as he doubled up around his wound as he rolled over onto his side. Shy blinked, banishing the clouds in her vision. Gently, Shy pushed Guy over onto his back. He muttered snatches of names and phrases under his breath. Shy could tell it was mostly nonsense. Occasionally though, she heard her name. This nightmare was not going to be banished no matter what she did.

Carefully, Shy dipped a cloth into a bowl of water and, after squeezing out the excess droplets, she dabbed at his face. She could feel the heat radiating off of him. How could his temperature be climbing this fast? She had to keep him cool.

_Infection is not a death sentence._ This thought was a lie and Shy knew it. She had seen only two patients of Lady Thea's ever survive the infection of a serious wound. The fever could come suddenly and burn away anything left of the mind, or turn the very blood in a body into poison.

"You need to stay with me," Shy said seriously to Guy, whispering it over and over to him. "You need to stay with me." She was not sure if she was speaking to him or herself in her efforts to remain in the present and not drift away in the haze of a dream that would carry her far away from this.

All through the long dark of the night Shy remained awake, removing a blanket when he became dangerously warm, and adding it again when he shivered with an internal chill; cleaning the wound with the medicines every hour, hoping to purge the infection from his body; coaxing sips of the sleeping draught into his system when he would wake and rave at things only he could see. Sometimes Guy seemed to know Shy was with him, he was calmer then, but if a hallucination or a dream was too strong he looked right past her and there was hardly anything to do for him but let the nightmare run its course.

Shy thought she would go mad, instead she remained painfully sane, willing herself to stay lucid and remain where she was needed. By the time morning arrived, Guy was still clinging to life, but the fever still raged on. Shy was slumped over in her chair, sweat forming on her own skin, dangerously exhausted. Yet she refused any help from anyone else other than Lady Thea. She refused to sleep, fussing over her patient with all the possessive madness of a predatory cat. When she was not tending to Guy herself she was watching with careful and staring eyes at every move that was made. Her face was hallowing from lack of sleep and little food and water. Shy didn't notice these things. Lady Thea did. And she soon found herself saddled with two ailing patients, one struggling like mad to live, the other plunging headfirst into illness in an almost sacrificial bid. This did more than startle Lady Thea, it shocked her to her soul. Shy did not sacrifice for anyone, not even those she professed to care for. Yet here she was, tormenting herself in both body and spirit in an effort to save Guy.

"This new selfless act will be the death of you," Lady Thea chided as she watched Shy drink an entire flask of water. She had refused to leave the room until she saw the water downed.

"Selfless?" Shy croaked, the water having done nothing for her parched throat. "I have never felt more selfish."

"Well, then, please explain how exhausting yourself into sickness is anything less than selfless."

"He's in such pain," Shy said quietly looking over at Guy. He was sleeping peacefully for the moment, aside from a momentary spasm. "A selfless woman would rather do anything to end his suffering. I am doing everything to continue it until he wakes. I will have him live, my lady, pain or no pain, as his life is mine."

Lady Thea was shocked into utter silence at this declaration.

"He tried to tell me this before I...left him," Shy gave a twitch at the memory, as if to flick it aside like the sting of an insect. "I thought he meant to own me. I think I understand now. I am his as much as he is mine. If he dies so will I."

"I will not hear such dramatic exclamations from you, Shy!" Lady Thea said, "If he dies—which he will not—you will find yourself quite alive. You would not dare leave me? How could one man be worth a life?"

"Because without him there is no life!" Shy shouted. "Before him there was no life!"

"Did I not love you well enough?" Lady Thea could not help the flash of jealousy. For the longest time Shy had comprised of her own reasons for living. Shy was half sister, half daughter to her. Listening to her now, one would think she never counted the years Lady Thea had spent with her.

"Oh, don't you spin my words around, my lady! I love you well, but I was still your slave! I cared for Brennan but I was never safe with him! Guy knows me only as a free person. He refuses any other definition. He has made me happy, my lady," Shy said, her face cracking into a smile, willing her friend to try and understand. "For something that is so simple, it was an impossibility. I never told him this. I never could. I thought it was a weakness. He does not know how I love him. He does not think he can be loved. He thinks he is damned, and my lady! I cannot _bear_ to think of him being condemned to Hell alone! Without knowing." Her voice faded out and she held that far away look in her eyes again. "I wish I might be damned with him.." she whispered.

"You cannot mean that," Lady Thea said, "I'll not hear anymore of this." She took Shy's hands in hers, forcing her to look at her and not at Guy. "You will live. You will not wish yourself dead, nor will you wish yourself into Hell, I'll not stand for it, do you hear me, Shy?"

"See?" Shy said, squeezing Thea's hands in acceptance of the offered comfort, "You are nearly as selfish as me." Shy kissed Lady Thea's hands and patted them, "Never you mind me, my lady. Neither Guy nor I will be dying anytime soon."

Lady Thea lingered a moment longer with Shy, standing with an arm about her hunched shoulders. With a kiss to Shy's forehead and a final whispered urge for her to pray, Lady Thea departed the bedchamber, leaving Shy to the tendrils of exhausting madness.

The noblewoman headed down the stairs. She thought she might prowl about the kitchens hoping for a bit of whatever was left over from the dinner she had missed. The manor was strangely quiet. Mostly everyone would be asleep by now, wouldn't they? Lady Thea mused. Out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of the door leading into a private study. Candle light spilled out from the crack under the door. Curious, Lady Thea approached, knocking as she opened the door slowly.

"Oh!" She feigned surprise, but was secretly glad of the sight of another sleepless body. "It is...Archer isn't it?"

Archer had been sitting in one of the chairs, he's boots kicked up onto a desk. He had been staring off into the fireplace, which was beginning to die down. He casually glanced over at his intruder. He pushed himself into a straighter position, having sunk down at his ease. "Lady Thea." He gestured for her to come in.

The woman did so, pulling up a chair opposite Archer without invitation. "Have the others gone to bed?"

Archer nodded. "Then why haven't you?" asked Lady Thea.

"I could asked you the same question, couldn't I?" Archer retorted.

Lady Thea gave a very unladylike snort and reached for a poker. She knelt down on the floor, prodding the wood in the fireplace, urging it to flare into as much as life as it could muster. "You know very well I can't sleep," she said. "Not with who I have to tend to. Whereas you have no excuse."

"I'll sleep when it comes to me," Archer replied.

Dusting off her dress, and satisfied that she had done what she could with the fireplace, Lady Thea resumed her seat. The two sat in complete silence for a time before Lady Thea broke the stillness, "Is Gisborne a friend of yours? I know I saw you both working alongside one another the day you arrested my husband."

"Guy is my brother. Half-brother."

"Oh..." Lady Thea raised a hand to her mouth, "Oh, I'm so sorry."

Archer merely shrugged. "Don't be. I hardly know him. He hardly knows me."

"How can that be?"

"Sorry," Archer said, settling back down comfortably in his chair. "I don't go telling my life's story out to complete strangers."

"Well then no one's asking," Lady Thea replied with a quipped voice. "I think I'll go see what I can scrounge up in the kitchens. I'm starved. Do you want anything?"

Archer shook his head and Lady Thea left the study for a moment, but returned with a tray laden with a half-loaf of bread, butter, and a few cold slices of meat. She sat her load down upon the table.

"You've brought us a feast," Archer grunted sarcastically.

"I figured you'd feel your appetite rise the moment you saw some semblance of food. If you're going to spend the small hours of the night awake, you may as well make sure you don't starve while doing so," Lady Thea said, and then, as if to prove a point she tucked into the food with good will.

Archer watched her with an almost amused expression. He chewed on a piece of bread slowly. "How does a woman like you manage to get married to that monster Foster?"

"Sorry," Lady Thea swallowed, "I don't go around telling my life's story to strangers."

"Touche."

"Oh, you speak French now?" Lady Thea joked.

"French, Italian, Arabic...I even know a little Greek. You pick up on languages when you spend your time traveling the world." Archer began to dig into the slices of meat.

"I've always wanted to see the world," Lady Thea said. "Tell me of some of the places you've been...or is that too much of your life's story?"

Archer smirked. "Not at all." And he began to tell her about his travels through the continent. In the web of the story the tired, nervous, and melancholy pair were able to ignore their current troubles. It was exactly the rest they needed. Hours past and soon dawn was approaching. They had spent the whole night conversing with one another.

"I should go," Lady Thea said, rising from her seat. "There's time for at least a few minutes sleep."

"A beautiful woman such as yourself understandably needs time to refresh herself," Archer winked. He seemed much more at ease with himself than he had been when she had first seen him.

Lady Thea scowled. "Is that the line you use to flirt with all married woman?"

"Don't throw away what is still perfectly good," Archer retorted.

Lady Thea managed a laugh before sauntering from the room, and was it Archer's imagination or was there an extra swagger in her step just for him? He chuckled to himself a bit after she had gone. He sighed, those hours of banter had been just what he needed. He felt his eyelids begin to droop. Now he could maybe think about getting some sleep...

* * *

In those small, early hours between night and day, Shy remained hopelessly awake while all others had finally departed to bed. Guy had begun to rave again, but softer now, he did not have the strength to rage or toss himself about the bed. Shy sat in silence, bathing his face and chest with a cloth of cool water. It was beginning to feel futile. His body still burned as it had yesterday, and a fever could not blaze forever.

In the candle light, Shy watched in amazement as Guy's eyes snapped open. He did not see her. His head was turned to the opposite corner. His body went rigid.

"Marian?"

It was a quite plea in the dark. A disbelieving cry.

"Marian!"

Guy's arm twitched as he struggled to raise it up off of the bed to reach the shadowy figure of his own imagining. "You're here..." Even in his own hallucination he refused to believe the former love of his life could truly be standing before him. This stabbed at Shy. She could not even summon the will to feel an ounce of jealousy.

Guy babbled a few nonsensical sounding words to the ghost who, by the angle Guy tilted his head upwards, seemed to be hovering at his bedside. Occasionally there were snippets of apologies, declarations of love, and a never ending demand to be taken with her. When Guy ceased talking, Shy assumed he had slipped back into sleep.

She took his hand in hers, feeling for a pulse. When she found it it was weak, barely noticeable, and fading fast. Shy felt the world grind to a chaotic halt. In the flickering candle light Shy could see how very still Guy lay, as still and pale as death itself. She said nothing. She held onto his hand, feeling him slipping further and further away from her. And likewise, feeling herself draw further and further into her own mind, away from this horror.

There was a breeze that rattled the shutters on the window. It came from the opposite side of the bed, where Guy saw Marian's ghost hovering beside him.

"You cannot have him," Shy said quietly to the air. "He is no longer yours. I need him now. I know you wish to end his suffering, but you cannot, not when you are the cause of so much of it. You have to let him go. You...you see...he would follow you anywhere. He loves you more than me, so I can not ask him not to follow you, you must tell him to stay. Because he has a life. Here. And there will be another time, much later, I will let him go to you then. But please, let him live. I can't ask him to choose. I can't ask him to lose you again so let him go! _Let him go! Please, I can't let you take him from me!_" Shy screamed in sudden fear, feeling his pulse slip from her.

Suddenly she felt his heart reject the slipping pulses and it beat out in a slow, hesitant rhythm. Shaky at best, but living. Each strong beat caused Shy to gasp and the grin of shock, disbelief, and hope to grow on her face. It was not the steady beat of a man out of danger. It was the furious low pounding of a man fighting.

"Thank you," Shy whispered, her voice tremulous. "Thank you, Marian."

Exhausted and sick herself, Shy lowered her head upon the bed, close to Guy's chest so that she could still feel the rise and fall of his breath and the warmth of his fevered, yet living flesh. In an instant she was asleep, words of profound gratitude towards the ghost of a woman who would have been her rival in life still upon her lips as she shut her eyes.

* * *

**A/N: What? You didn't actually believe I was going to kill Guy did you? Nonsense. But I am winding this story down now, darlin' readers. Only a few chapters left. :(**


	40. Patience for the Patients

XL

Patience for the Patients

The cold light of morning filtered in through the shutters on the window. It was a most aggravating sight. Guy blinked his eyes open, grimacing at the steadily growing sunlight. The first thing he felt was an overwhelming sensation of dryness in his mouth and throat. His limbs ached and felt about as useless as crumpled parchment. Every muscle was sore, he felt it even in his very bones. He had not felt pain like this since he had been run through by the Sheriff's blade all those many months ago. Even then that had been nothing compared to this. The deep weakness he felt was incomparable to anything. The fire burning from the wound in his side slowly became more and more prevalent and urgent.

"At last he wakes," a voice said from beside him.

Guy turned his head, but even this action caused him to wince in pain. A woman he barely recognized stood over him, rolling up a bundle of bandages. His brain worked furiously to place her. Lady Thea. The name came to him. Where had he heard that name before? He fought to move his mouth, to try and form words to ask who she was, and where he was. Everything felt confused.

Lady Thea noticed his efforts. "Don't try to speak now," she reached for a cup of water and held it to his lips, raising his head a bit so he could drink. Guy tried to guzzle down the water, but Lady Thea removed the cup from his mouth before he could try. "You'll make yourself sick that way. Slow sips. And this.." she uncorked a mysterious vial and allowed him to sip from it. Whatever was inside tasted bitter. He nearly gagged on it. "Don't you dare spit that out," she warned, "you're going to come to like this, because the pain is only going to get worse from here."

Having quenched his thirst and taken something to help with the burning pain racing through his body, Guy relaxed enough to feel a very different sensation, one he had not noticed before. There was a gentle pressure against his chest. He looked down to see a woman sleeping. She was sitting in a chair at his side, her head upon the bed and halfway atop his heart. Her arms were curled about her, so he could not see her face merely a shock of black hair. Guy had no trouble recognizing this woman.

"She has hardly left your side," Lady Thea said softly. There was a tenderness to her voice as she spoke of the woman, and yet a look of resentment in her eyes for him, as if she blamed him for something. "This is the first time I've seen her asleep since you were taken so ill."

Struggling through his own weakness, Guy managed to raise his arm and lay a hand atop the sleeping woman's head. Her soft, yet tangled hair felt blissful against his fingers. At this gentle touch the woman jerked upright, eyes wide, blood-shot and alert. Guy's hand slipped from her and back down upon the bed.

"What? What is it?" She cried, turning her head from side to side.

Her eyes locked with Guy's and it was as if Lady Thea had gone from the room, as if the very room itself had disappeared entirely. Her entire world comprised of the open, lucid, blue eyes staring back at her with equal all-consuming purpose. Somewhere from this haze she heard Lady Thea speaking, "Fever's broken...still very weak yet, Shy, but he'll live, just like I promised."

Guy attempted to speak, no sound was able to emerge, but he was able to mouth her name. A small smirk appeared on his cracked lips. It was then that Shy burst into tears. Deep, wrenching sobs tore at her and she cried without restraint. She struggled to breathe, her lungs fought for air, her whole body shook with the force of her tears. Embarrassed at this, she tried to turn away, but found there was no where to angle her body so that Guy could not see this display of emotion. She covered her face with both hands as she cried, unable to stop. She sobbed in exhaustion, relief, and above everything the sheer joy of seeing him look at her. The nightmare was over. The tears would not stop coming. She felt as if something had exploded inside of her chest, and all the panic and the grief of the past week came rushing out at once. She fought to gain control of herself, but the more she tried the worse she sobbed. Shy curled up, hunching her shoulders, rolling herself into a ball as she fought to find a place to hide.

Guy watched this display with a mixture of surprise, and concern. He remembered watching as Shy had cried over her father's grave, but somehow these tears were of a different caliber. The strength with which she shivered, and the breathless, gasping wails were entirely different. Was she crying for him?

Eyes full of tears herself, Lady Thea ducked out of the room, giving Shy time to be alone with Guy and knowing she was embarrassed enough at having one person she cared for see her in such a moment of weakness; Lady Thea knew Shy would not want any extra eyes on hers.

Slowly, Shy's sobs lessened and she lowered her hands away from her face, which was red and blotchy with tear-stains. She gave Guy a sheepish smile, her breath still hitching and the occasional tear-drop falling down her cheek.

Guy gestured weakly to the empty space beside him on the bed. Shy did not have to be told twice. She kicked off her shoes and nearly knocked over her chair as she rose and crawled into the bed alongside Guy. She was situated snuggly against his chest, an arm draped itself over her shoulders and back, pressing her tightly to him. From the one side of her face still visible, Guy could still see tears running down her cheek. With his free hand, Guy was able to dry her eyes. Shy clutched at his hand and brought it to her lips.

Neither could speak, and both were too weak to move. Guy sighed, feeling sleep threatening to steal him away. He looked back down at Shy, whose gasping breaths were already fading out into sleep-filled and evenly paced ones. She had strained herself to total exhaustion. Guy could see this. He wished he had the strength to speak to her. There was so much that needed to be said. For now, however; they needed to sleep and regain their health. The danger had passed. Guy wrapped both of his arms around the sleeping woman and there, lying tangled with one another, the two found a moments peace.

* * *

"How are you feeling?"

"Wonderful."

Lady Thea snorted at Shy's response to her question. She tilted Shy's head up and made her down a draught that caused her to pull a face of disgust. Once the taste passed, Shy grinned up at Lady Thea as she tried handing her back the cup.

Shy leaned back down, propped up by two pillows. She and Guy had slept through the whole of the day and night. The following morning had brought with it some improvement. Guy was still very weak, but he had regained his voice. Shy on the other hand was suffering from a small fever brought on by exhaustion. She seemed quite pleased with herself even if she felt terrible.

Guy stopped Lady Thea from removing the cup. "She didn't drink all of it," he said.

"It tastes horrible."

"Now you know how it feels," Guy grunted, taking the cup from Lady Thea's hands and holding it out in front of Shy. "Drink."

Grumbling objections, Shy snatched up the cup and swallowed the last remaining drops of the medicine. She coughed, "I am supposed to be looking after you..."

Guy pulled up the covers around Shy and settled her back against him. "She'll be fine in a day or two" Lady Thea told him, "and so will you, what with your strength returning every passing hour."

Guy nodded and thanked the lady. In truth he was almost grateful to have these two days with Shy. They did not need speech getting in the way of things. Holding her was expression enough. For the past week it was a privilege Guy thought he would never have again.

"You are so...warm..." Shy sighed, snuggling against him like a contented cat.

Guy chuckled softly, wincing as the action irritated his wound. "That's because you have a fever."

"I am so glad you did not leave me," she sighed. Guy could not be sure if she was speaking plainly or if somehow her mild fever was causing her to speak far more freely than usual.

"I told you once before," Guy said, "I had no intention of leaving you."

"Not true. You wanted Marian to come for you."

Guy had no recollection of what he may have said or done during his fever. He could only imagine what he had said. What must Shy have felt at any words he had to say concerning Marian?

Shy seemed to sense his welling guilt. "I am not jealous, Guy."

No, she wouldn't be, that was not Shy's way. Still, there was something secret she was not telling him. It was in the way she held him, as if he was not hers, merely borrowed for a time. He wondered what he could say to her, but he could think of nothing. He felt himself caught in a trap. His former peace destroyed in an instant. There was no defense he could think of for himself. He had called out for Marian in his moment of need, not Shy, or maybe he had called for her as well? The memories were not complete. And while Shy insisted in her casual tone that she understood, that she was not jealous, Guy could not accept that.

Slowly, he pulled the bed covers from about himself and struggled into a sitting position.

"Guy?" Shy questioned. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing. I just need to get out of this damned bed for a minute."

"You...you can't, you need to rest!" Shy grasped his arm and tried to tug him back down against the bed, but Guy, even in his weakened state, was stronger than her. He shrugged out of her grasp and managed to get to his feet. He swayed and he had to clutch the edge of the wooden chair to steady himself. The wound throbbed at his side, and his protesting muscles tried to scream at him to lie down, but he would not obey. After giving himself a moment to regain his balance he managed to shuffle over to the chest of drawers, where his black tunic was lying discarded. Dressing had never before been such a production. After what seemed like a tiring amount of maneuvering, Guy managed to get the tunic on.

"Guy...Guy...please come back to bed. You'll tear the stitches. You'll make yourself ill again. Please come back!"

Guy hobbled back over the bed, and to the panicked Shy sitting up, struggling to shove the suffocating quilts off of her. Guy stilled her frantic movements. "I am fine. I promise not to wander too far." He felt her forehead, she was quite hot. He pushed her back against the pillows and arranged the blankets about her semi-struggling form. "Rest." He kissed the top of her head. "I'll be back soon."

"You are already breaking your promise," Shy said sadly.

"I think going downstairs for a moment hardly constitutes leaving you, Shy," Guy said, trying his best to placate her.

"You're not going to come back."

Guy kissed her. A slow, lingering kiss—none of the many former chaste ones he had given her since waking from his fever. He smiled at her in what he hoped was a confident and loving way. Shy smiled back and he felt himself assured she believed him. "See?" Shy whispered. "That is not a kiss one gives when merely going downstairs for half a minute."

Guy's face fell, he moved away from the bed, feeling Shy's eyes boring into the back of his skull as he walked.

"Why?" she asked quietly.

He did not answer her as he opened the door.

"You do not love me..." This was no petty or fevered accusation. It was a resigned statement of fact. It proved all of Guy's thoughts of Shy harboring a hidden hurt right. He could not help but answer.

"That is not true."

"Then..."

"I love you too much."

"And yet not enough."

This banter was getting them nowhere and the longer he lingered the more of his strength he lost, and the longer he remained looking at Shy's flushed, resigned, and exhausted face the more of his will was sapped from him. He left the room, shutting the door behind him in an almost quiet relief.

The next challenge was making his way down the long flight of stairs. He gave a thin groan, not from the pain, but from the sight of Lady Thea and Archer sitting around the fireplace, in perfect view. Lady Thea was up out of her seat in a moment with a face like thunder. Guy pushed her aside as he hobbled down the stairs.

"_What _by all that is holy do you think you are doing?"

"I've been bound to that bed. I had to get up," Guy protested weakly.

"Did you not think there was a reason you were made to stay in that bed?" Lady Thea said, shoving him down into the chair she had vacated. Guy grunted and clutched at his injured side as he was pushed down. Lady Thea did not seem overly concerned, "Did that hurt? Perhaps you shouldn't have been wandering around!"

Archer was struggling with his laughter over the scene. "Oh leave the man alone, Lady Thea," he said, "if he's strong enough to get out of the bed the exercise won't kill him." He was silenced at a glare from the lady in question.

All argument was briefly silenced for a time at the sound of a rather loud _thunk_ from upstairs. Something had fallen over. At the top of the staircase appeared Shy. Poor, disheveled, fever-flushed Shy. Lady Thea cursed again. "Do the both of you intend to undo all of my work in one hour?"

"You haven't left yet," Shy said as she hurried down the stairs.

"Shy, I..."

The woman knelt down beside Guy. She glanced at his side, where the wound was located. She placed a hand there. "No torn stitches. That's good."

Lady Thea placed a hand over Shy's forehead. She frowned. "Seems I've underestimated that fever, my dear. I'll have to make you more medicine."

"I'm not sick," Shy said, shrugging Lady Thea's hand away. "If you're going to make more of the fever medicine make some for Guy."

"Shy...Guy's fine. He's perfectly well, aside from being the greatest imbecile I've ever met," Lady Thea huffed.

"Oh..." a flicker of clarity passed through Shy's eyes. She shook her head. "Yes...of course..."

"I'm entirely well, Shy, and I told you I'm not going anywhere. Why would you think such a thing?" Guy asked.

"Maybe it's because she's been slowly watching you die for the past week, hm?" Lady Thea chided.

Shy's body gave a twitch at that implication. Lady Thea continued, "She worked herself into total exhaustion for you. She's perfectly sound, her body merely has to catch up with itself. A week deprived of food and sleep is a terrible thing."

"I did not realize she was so sick..." Guy said softly.

"No, I wager you didn't. Thought you'd have a ready and caring nursemaid when you awoke. Oh, you two selfish louts are indeed designed for one another!" Lady Thea said, throwing up her hands in anger.

"I'll take her back to the bedchamber," Guy said.

"You'll do no such thing! You've worn yourself out enough as it is, what with even thinking of getting up out of bed. No. I'll make up a pallet for you two down here for the day. And don't even try to move, or I'll bring the soldiers down on your heads. Archer," Lady Thea kicked at his chair, "make yourself useful, you grinning idiot, come and help me."

Archer, still grinning, rose to his feet. "I can see where Shy was taught her temper from."

"You get yourself moving!"

"Yes, my lady!"

And the argumentative pair left the room to gather quilts and pillows from the abandoned bedchamber upstairs.

"Shy?"

Guy peered down over the arm of the chair. Shy had crumpled up in a heap, her hands covered her face and she leaned against the side of the chair as if she was unable to hold herself up. Guy deserted the chair and knelt before her, ignoring the protesting throb of his wound. "Don't cry," he hushed, drawing the woman into his arms. "Please."

Shy moved her hands away from her face. She hadn't been crying, merely covering herself in shame at her own pathetic, fevered actions. "I'm sorry," she heard Guy tell her, apologizing for having trivialized her illness.

"Guy? I'm...tired." Shy sighed.

"Then go to sleep," Guy encouraged, cradling her.

"No," she moaned, "I'll wait until Lady Thea comes back with the pallet. You can't hold me. You need to lie down too. Your wound could get aggravated. You could take another infection...I can't sleep. I need to give you your medicine and then change and clean the bandages and then..."

Guy silenced her with a hush. Shy was drifting halfway between consciousness and fevered delusion. She seemed aware of her surroundings, and yet haunted by the fear of the recent past. He hugged her tightly. She was burning hot, he could feel it now, and she had become much thinner. That week spent in Foster's keep combined with the added strain of caring for him in the past days had taken their toll. He should have been able to have seen how sick and tired she was! Shy had never felt more fragile in his arms. Not even with everything he had seen with her or experienced, had she looked more vulnerable. It was clear that Shy was hating every minute of her confused and pathetic state. The added blush upon her cheek was one of shame, Guy knew it.

When Lady Thea and Archer returned with two bundles of quilts and blankets, Shy sat up and away from Guy. She helped arrange the blankets and then directed Guy to lie down. Shy sat down beside him, taking his hand in hers and assuming the position of a guardian to watch over him as he slept. Guy gave her hand a tug and brought her against him. It did not take long until Shy was soon fast asleep again. Guy remained awake this time to watch over her.

Lady Thea shook her head at the silent display. "You are a great fool," she said. "I do not know what Shy sees in you. Do not think," she smiled wickedly, "that I have not heard all that has been said about you, Sir Guy of Gisborne. Shy's mention of you was not the first I heard your name. Yet to hear her speak of you was to hear of some other man, nothing like rumor would have it be. So which are you, Sir Guy? The villain of legend or my friend's hero?"

"I do not think I am either, my lady," Guy whispered, stunned at the woman's candid tone. "Yet I appear to be both."

"Like I said, a great fool," she smiled, it was the first look of kindness she had given to Guy, "but you deserve her. You both deserve one another." She smiled even wider, "But if I hear of you ever daring to harm her, I will make you wish that that dagger had killed you."

Guy watched as Lady Thea left the room. Quite the woman. If this was who had raised Shy from a child he no longer had to wonder where she had been taught to wield such a sharp tongue. Shy stirred beside him, her hand clutching his tunic, bunching the soft fabric up in her fist. She placed her head against his chest, her legs curled up underneath her and a great sigh escaped her. Guy smoothed the hair back from her fevered brow. He was not overly concerned. Lady Thea did not seem to think Shy was in any mortal danger. He was, however; quite deeply moved, as this sickness attested for how much she cared for him. "Don't worry," he told her as she clenched and unclenched her fist about his tunic, reaffirming her grasp on him. "I'm not going anywhere."

* * *

**A/N: See? Everyone's alive and well. Almost. **

**Still have a few more loose ends to tie up before I end this fic! Stay tuned!  
**


	41. Letting Go

XLI

Letting Go

Over the course of Shy's two day recovery, Guy proved himself a better caretaker than that of Lady Thea. He had developed a unique way to ensure that Shy would do as she was bidden and take her medicine. If she refused it, he would refuse to take the pain-numbing draught Lady Thea made for him. The effect was instantaneous and Shy was becoming a model patient.

The fever broke quickly and while Shy recovered her strength and peace of mind, Guy was well on the mend. There was an aura of false peace about the two. While both were greatly relieved and overjoyed to be with one another again, there was a sickly and forced confidence between them. When anything was said that even remotely touched upon the past fight that nearly tore them apart they would become strangely silent, drift a bit along that tedious current, before changing the subject entirely and ignoring all mention of past hurts. This was acceptable while they were still healing. They were too focused on one another's mere presence, so much so it became its own form of medicine.

But such an illusion could not last for long and as soon as Shy and Guy were no longer confined to bed-rest, the occasional silences grew longer, and the forced words of love and confidence could not even be summoned.

Shy dressed quietly in the corner of Guy's bedchamber. She had grown used to the simple servant's attire, even though Guy hated seeing her in it. Her assuages that it was only temporary did nothing to still his own aggravation. It was an aggravation that was steadily growing. He snapped at everyone now save for Shy, whom he could barely speak to at all. As Shy slipped on her shoes Guy merely stared at her, his expression focused, yet neutral. Shy caught his gaze as she stood up. Shy clinched her jaw, stopping up any words she wanted to say to the man, before turning and heading for the door without a word of goodbye.

"Where are you going?" Guy asked gruffly.

"Downstairs. For a walk."

Guy thought he would ask to join her, but he saw the sullen look in Shy's eyes and thought better of it. She needed to be alone. "When will you be back?"

"Soon."

Shy had her hand on the handle of the door, determined to leave without another word. She bit her lip and then, as if sensing Guy's silent distressed annoyance, she went back to him and gave him a light kiss. A smile flickered on her face at Guy's shocked expression. "Soon," she repeated, pressing her forehead to his, "I promise."

And just like that, all former aggravation was forgotten for the moment. Shy left Guy in a stupor. The kiss had been so light a ghost might have left it, yet Guy felt the very imprint of Shy's lips against his own. The spot where Shy had pressed her brow to his seemed to burn. He rubbed at it. There were so many thing that he needed to tell her, things that were both painful and necessary. He had been stalling and it was wrong of him to do so. Shy loved him still, was this not obvious given all she had put herself through (the thought of which still caused his heart to beat in double time)? When Shy returned he made a promise to confront her. Let the past be done with and let them move on from there. They could hardly go anywhere with this pressure suffocating them.

Guy's gaze caught the box of medicines sitting up on the chest of drawers. It was slowly outliving its usefulness, as both Shy and Guy no longer needed fever or pain draughts. If that were so then why was it that one of the jars was missing from the box? Guy narrowed his eyes, going over the chest to see if his eyesight was merely playing tricks. He was certain the full contents of the box had been there only a few moments ago. Sure enough, however; a jar was certainly missing. Guy had come to learn a little of the medicines, what with watching Lady Thea treat his own wound as well as Shy's fever. The jar containing an herb used to numb pain was missing. It was specifically used to treat his burn wound. Guy felt his heart sink. Shy must have taken the jar, and there was only one other person in the whole of Nottingham who would have need of a burn poultice...

* * *

"To what do I owe this pleasure?" Isabella of Gisborne asked with an inquisitive stare.

Shy knelt before her, a basket of full of bandages, a pitcher of water, and a small jar of medicine, was carried under her arm. She set this down on the hay-strewn floor of the stable. Isabella's arms were shackled up over her head. Her legs were shackled to the ground. Sweat dripped down her face and she moved her arms constantly to search for a bit of relief from the biting pain from both the cuffs and the old burn wounds.

Shy produced a key from the pocket of her apron and undid the shackles on her wrists. Isabella could not help the sigh which escaped her as she was allowed to move her arms down to her sides. She rotated the wrist of one hand, the deformed one simply hung limp on the floor. She watched as Shy poured out the contents of the jar against one of the cloth bandages.

"What would your outlaw friends have to say about this?" Isabella chided.

"They do not know I am here," Shy grunted as she pushed up the sleeve of Isabella's ruined arm. The sight of the charred flesh concealed by the long, black dress nearly caused the meager breakfast Shy had consumed to come rushing back up. She bit her lip hard until she tasted a pinprick of blood. Focusing on the copper taste in her mouth, Shy managed to wrap the poultice-covered bandages about Isabella's arm. Regaining her composure, she spoke, "Guy thinks I have gone for a walk around the village."

"So, he is still alive, then?" Isabella snapped, only mildly displeased, but far from surprised.

"Very much so," Shy said tonelessly.

"Well?"

"Well, what?"

"Do you not despise me?" Isabella grinned wickedly. "I did nearly kill your friend after all."

"Guy is not my friend."

"Oh, I see then-"

"He is my betrothed."

There was no surprising this woman. She merely smiled at Shy, her teeth bared viciously. "I thought as much," she said smugly, wincing as Shy tied the bandages off none too gently. "I knew from the moment he came rushing into the carriage to save you. Guy is not prone to acts of heroism. I knew you must be something unusual for him to risk so much. Let me tell you how much I wanted to kill you right then."

"Me?" Shy said, pouring water into a cup and handing it to Isabella.

"Of course," Isabella said, taking a greedy sip. "I wanted to watch him as you died. I wanted to see it destroy him."

"I don't think you wanted to kill me, Isabella. Of course, you could always take your chance now," Shy stretched out her arms and tilted her head back to wait for a killing blow. Isabella merely looked down at the cup in her hands, her face a mask of impotent fury.

"You think I could overpower you? With my legs shackled to the floor and one arm good for naught? I am not so very stupid," Isabella spat. In her anger she flung the water from the cup and threw it away from her. "At any rate, why are you treating me?" She clutched at her arm, "This is not laced with poison is it?"

"No poison," Shy said. "I'm not a killer."

"Then...why? I knew the moment I met you you were a spy. You were too clever to be a simple servant. I was going to arrest you. I was going to have you sentenced to death for conspiring with outlaws. I tried to kill your _betrothed_. Why are you helping me?"

"I recalled what you said to me in the carriage. You said we were very much alike."

Isabella sniffed, "I only said that to unnerve you."

"I think you were right."

Isabella glared at her, "What would you know about it?"

"Because I know the hate that resides in the heart when one is enslaved all their life," Shy said. Isabella looked up at her with something bordering on surprise at last. Shy's hard gaze softened into a pitiable look. She explained her meaning, "I was bought and kept by Lord Foster since I was a child. I tried to kill him once and he sold me to a slaver. Now you have the look of a slave about you. I want to know why."

"If I told you that you might not wish to marry my dear brother anymore," Isabella laughed.

"Then that would be a great revenge wouldn't it?" Shy said, sitting cross-legged.

Isabella fidgeted uncomfortably. For a time she said nothing, merely avoided Shy's gaze and looked to the floor. Shy had no intention of going anywhere and they sat in silence for several minutes. Isabella kept glancing over at Shy, waiting to see her grow impatient and leave her. When it became clear the woman had no intention of budging until she learned the truth, Isabella relented. She did not know why. Perhaps out of the idea of taking her revenge on Guy by turning the woman he loved against him, or perhaps she saw a likeness in the woman. This latter thought disturbed her immensely. She focused instead on her revenge.

"I was sold into marriage at thirteen to a man as vile and monstrous as your Lord Foster. My brother arranged it. He never bothered to know the man he sold me to. He cared only for the coin he carried. He never came for me. He never sought me out. He left me the morning after my wedding without word." Isabella reveled in the growing look of disbelief in Shy's eyes. The woman fought it. She looked away, she tried to steady her breathing, but the evidence of her dismay was heavy.

"Suppose you were not expecting such a story?" Isabella sneered.

"No..." Shy said very quietly. "On the contrary, I feared it was something like that."

There was another deafening moment of silence between them.

"Who sold you to Lord Foster?" Isabella asked.

"My father."

"Men!" Isabella spat with a shake of her head. "They are all alike in their cruelty."

"I do not believe that."

"How can you not?"

"I will admit, I did at one time, but I was proven wrong. It wasn't just men I hated. I hated anyone who knew what it meant to experience any kind of joy in life. They had no right to it. As I sat in the slaver's cart thinking of ways to escape, I thought of all the many people I would kill until I was free. I thought of all the contented people I would hurt in order steal what I could to get home. I cherished these thoughts. The pain I could inflict on others filled a void in me, but the pain didn't stop, Isabella. It doesn't stop, does it?" Shy looked upon Isabella sympathetically, the captive woman avoided her eyes entirely. Shy went on, feeling her own long repressed emotions rise. She had never given so complete a voice to her own bleak thoughts, not even to Guy, who could not possibly ever understand them, though he had tried. "Even you, you who freed yourself and made something more of your life. Think of all those you have harmed. Has the blackness been erased, Isabella? Has the memory of those long years disappeared with the blood you spilled?"

"Shut up! Shut up, I said!" Isabella screeched.

"It won't ever go away!" Shy shouted over the woman's cries. "The void stays here," she jabbed at her chest, over her heart, "Every second I feel it eating away at me, _cutting_ through me. I want to lash at as you have. I want to hurt, I want to _destroy_...but I have learned that to feed into this blackness is to make it stronger. It cannot be banished, Isabella, that is our curse, but we women are made of stronger stuff, we do not have to become what our masters made us."

"Why are you doing this?" Isabella cried, snarling at Shy, "Why tell me such weak and useless drivel?"

"Because we are sisters, Isabella," Shy said, reaching for her hand, but finding it snatched out of reach, "By our shared trial and soon by law. You may think that you only helped me in order to deceive me, but I think you did so out of a kindness in you! You must let this bitterness in you go, Isabella, it will kill you; look what it has done to you already!"

"I will never let it go!" Isabella spat, "I will never stop hating my brother for what he did to me!"

"Then there is no choice," Shy sighed. She quickly unlocked the shackles about Isabella's ankles, freeing her from her captivity. Shy rose to her feet and spread out her arms. "You must kill me, then, and have your revenge."

Isabella rose onto shaking legs, staring around in utter amazement at what Shy had just done. She held the chains in her hands as she pulled them through the hole in the iron cuffs. With a cry of rage she pinned Shy to the wall of the stable, the chains pressed tight against her neck.

"Go on, do it!" Shy encouraged with a cough. "Kill me! No hesitation, Isabella, no weakness, remember?"

Isabella faltered in her step, the determination in her eyes wavering. Shy continued to goad her on. "Think of what Guy will feel when he sees me dead! You'll have destroyed him, Isabella. He might even take his own life. Think of what you shall win...what shall you win, Isabella? What shall you win but more blood!"

Isabella stepped back, removing the chains from about Shy's neck. There was a clattering of iron as it scrapped against the wooden floor of the stable. Isabella stood, chest heaving in frustration and anger. Shy remained pressed against the wall, panting in relief and a little fear.

"Do not think that I do this for my brother, or _you,_" Isabella spat. "You overestimate me," she pointed at Shy with a shaking hand, "I would kill you if it wouldn't bring the entire godforsaken band of outlaws down around my head."

"You should hurry," Shy warned. "Take one of the horses and go before Archer or one of the soldiers comes to check on you."

Baffled at Shy's words, Isabella scrambled to take heed of her advice. "This is not finished, Shy," she said, mounting one of the soldier's horses. "And do not _think_ I will owe you anything for this."

"I wouldn't think it," Shy said, seeing the conflict of gratitude and fury in Isabella's scarred face. "Safe journey."

Isabella simply nodded, unable to speak, but the expression was enough to let Shy know she had reached the troubled woman in some way. Isabella shook her head, her eyes hardening again. "You are a fool!" She shouted, but Shy could not help but think the insult was half-heartedly meant. Shy found herself smiling as she watched Isabella gallop from the stables and down towards the village. She sighed, now to tell the others she had let their most valuable prisoner escape.

* * *

Shy tugged at the laces of her cloak and handed off the garment to a waiting servant. She smiled and thanked the young girl who gave her a small nod of acknowledgement before walking away. Shy still felt mildly uncomfortable asking anything from the servants of Locksley. Having someone at her beck and call was an alien concept and it would take time before she could ever claim to be used to such a thing.

She walked into the main hall and was startled to find Guy sitting in one of the chairs. A fire was crackling merrily in the hearth giving the room a cheerful glow, which contrasted greatly from the gloomy, darkened expression on Guy's face.

"You startled me," Shy admitted, taking a seat in a chair opposite of Guy.

"Did I?" Guy said in a tone which suggested anything but astonishment. "Why is that?"

"I just...I just wasn't expecting to see you down here."

"How was your walk?" Guy asked.

Shy shrugged, "Refreshing, I was happy to be outside."

"That is odd. There's hardly a blush on your cheek and you've been walking about the grounds for nearly an hour. You took care not to exert yourself too much." Guy leaned forward, brushing his fingers against her face, "And not even chilled too, and it was cold early this morning."

Shy did not like the interrogating tone in his voice, nor the look of suspicion in his eyes. He knew she had not gone out for a walk. She suspected he might have seen through her alibi. "Guy, I..."

"And how is my sister, Shy?" Guy growled. "Sufficiently tended to, thanks to you?"

"Don't you speak so spitefully to me!" Shy snapped, "Isabella suffers from her wounds. I sought to help her with the pain."

"She tried to kill me! And have you forgotten she wanted to kill you as well?"

"I couldn't let her suffer!" Shy shouted back, "Not while knowing how she has suffered in the past."

"What has she told you?" Guy said, becoming as alert as a hunter's dog at the smell of blood. "What has she said?"

"She told me a story of how a young girl was sold off into marriage to a monster of a man by her own brother," Shy said. She saw how Guy looked away from her at those words. "Guy! Tell me she lied." In the pained silenced which followed Shy lunged from her chair to force him to look at her. She knelt before him, taking his hands in hers, her eyes shining with desperation. "Tell me it is all a lie and I will believe you, Guy!"

Guy looked down at her the former spiteful malice cooling from his eyes. He cupped her face in his hands. For one moment he thought of lying to her. He believed she would not doubt his word. Any sympathy she may have had for his poor sister would not be enough to shatter the trust she had in him. He could lie. It would be so easy.

"It is true."

Guy did not know where the confession came from. Shy lowered her head and removed herself from his hands. She rose to her feet, her head still cast down. "Every time I believe I understand you...I find I am only holding an illusion. This can not be so. The Guy that I know would never consent to so grave a crime."

"The Guy that you know?" He repeated with an incredulous laugh, "Shy if you had _known_ me before I was taken by the slaver you would have despised me with every breath in your body. What I did to my sister was the least of my crimes."

"No. You are a good man, I have seen it!"

"Perhaps I have been made to seem so by circumstance. I like to believe you have had that influence on me, but if I am good now does it negate the past, Shy?" Guy asked, reaching for Shy's hand.

"If I believed for one second that you had meant to kill Marian I would never have loved you," Shy whispered, "but to purposely sell your own sister? To abandon her?"

"Oh, Shy there's so much more to my life than that. If I could I would tell you of all the father's I killed too, and the brothers and sons."

"No...no stop..."

"I've murdered more people than I can count, Shy. None of those were accidental!"

"Stop it!" Shy tried to push him over, but Guy caught her arms.

"But those are lifetimes ago, Shy. I will never live down the true extent of my crimes, but with you there is a chance for a better future. With you there is a chance for some salvation..."

"Enough!" Shy wrenched herself free from Guy's overbearing grasp. "How can I be your salvation, Guy, when I can barely save myself?" She found herself trembling. "You have only been kind to me...and patient and gentle. It is like you are two different people entirely!"

"There is another side to me..."

"Then reconcile them!" Shy shouted miserably, "I love you, Guy, but which one? I can live with you as the compassionate and honorable man I know you are, but I can not devote myself to a remorseless murderer who hides behind my own false virtue and claims it is his salvation! You can not ask that of me!"

"Why do you pretend outrage, Shy?" Guy asked, "I made no mystery of my life before I knew you."

"But you took no pains to explain it. Yes, I understood there was a darkness about your past, but looking back I see I was deluding myself. I did not want to ask what you hid. I did not want to see. I loved you too much to want to give myself a reason to leave you."

"Leave me?"

Shy winced at the note of shock in Guy's voice. "This has always been standing between us, Guy," she whispered.

"But you love me...you accepted me..."

"It is not a question of love. I only accepted what you gave me. I can not live with a man whose every crime will gradually be revealed to me, whose unspoken lies will continue to cut at me. I have told you everything of my life, Guy, I have laid it all bare before you. You have only concealed and lied to me. Showing only what you wanted me to see."

"For good reason! You think I take any pride in my life, Shy? If you were to know it all you would turn from me, and I would do anything to prevent that."

Shy felt tears well in her eyes at such a confession, but the fact remained. "You have played me for a blind fool. If you wish to keep me you must tell me everything. I promise to listen. I will not run. I will not say a word. I only want to know you, Guy. You need to let me."

"That is a painful ultimatum, Shy."

"For me as well."

Guy sighed, "You must...give me time. I could not tell you everything now."

Shy nodded. "Tomorrow then."

"You would not truly leave me, Shy?"

"I would if my conscience told me so," Shy admitted, although this caused no end of agony within her to to say aloud. "But I would always love you, Guy. It is far too late to change that."

She allowed for Guy to embrace her, sensing his panic and compulsion to hold her. Shy did not think Guy could understand this need, or if he did he could not fully comprehend it. He was just as selfish as she. Shy felt herself sinking into his embrace. She could not afford to be so weak before him now. She parted from him, desperately trying to avoid looking into his helpless eyes. "Until tomorrow," she told him softly, her voice thick with tears, before she left Guy in the hall to stand alone.

* * *

**A/N: I love Guy to death, it's true, and if I could make it all be so easy for him to just ride off into the sunset, I would. Unfortunately I can't. And Shy's been a very good girl in accepting Guy for who he is with the little information she knows, but ladies, let's be honest with ourselves for a moment-wouldn't you want a full explanation? **

**Please remember that before you decided to chase me out of town again. XD I swear I don't like causing Guy-angst it's just necessary! *Runs*  
**


	42. Confessions

XLII

Confessions

As Shy paced about in the garden with miserable anxiety she began to question if she had done the right thing in asking for an explanation of Guy's past. When prompted he had always been honest with her, perhaps there had been good reason he never revealed more than was necessary of his life before he knew her. It was a life that was over for him. No...that sounded like an excuse, and she had been making up excuses for his past since the day she had started her friendship with him. She had claimed his crimes meant nothing. That had been easy enough to say when she had no idea of the extent of his depravity. She had to know, she needed to know before she gave her whole life to this man.

What if the list of crimes was too great for her to comprehend? What if she truly could not stand to be with him after he was finished with his confession? She would leave. She had given herself little other choice, and she could not fathom binding herself to a man she could neither accept nor respect. That would not be fair to Guy; that would be to add misery upon misery to both their lives. Yet how different would it be to be parted from him forever? The very notion was like a sword thrusting into her, with every twist of her thoughts she drove the point deeper still. And then what if he did not come at all and face her?

Shy stopped her fevered pacing when she saw Guy approaching her. His manner was surprisingly calm, almost lethargic. When he looked at her he seemed to stare straight through her. Shy swallowed hard, feeling the bitter look in his eyes was accusatory. She had betrayed some established trust between them. She had never pried into his past and she had done a poor job of asking to hear the true account of his life. In fact, she had not asked at all, she had demanded.

He brusquely asked her to join him on the bench under the shade of an oak tree. Shy followed obediently, not uttering a sound. Once seated he would not look her fully in the eye. It was as if a light had been extinguished all at once. She wanted to tell him to stop, that she had been wrong to ask him to do this, but the damage was already done. This was going to take courage, a trait she knew she lacked when it came to Guy. She had been a coward when he had first told her of his love for her, she had been a coward when faced with his illness, and now when she needed to sit and listen with an open heart to a life that contained all manner of dark events, she found herself weak. She bit her lip until she tasted blood, daring herself to sit still, and to hold up her end of the bargain.

"What do you see out past there?" Guy asked, pointing westward.

Shy stared, hardly expecting a question. "Parts of Locksley...a meadow that stretches out further than I can see an end to from here."

"That is Gisborne. The village, now just the outer circle of Locksley, that meadow—the manor-house I was raised in...before it was burnt to the ground. See it?"

And she did. The outskirts of Locksley multiplied into the busy central hub of any village. The wide and empty meadow hummed with the daily chatter of serfs and servants meeting and greeting one another outside while smoke rose from the chimney of a sizable manor. Shy blinked. The meadow went silent once more.

"While my father was fighting in the Holy Land my mother pursued trysts with Lord Malcolm of Locksley, this was Robin's father..."

Shy sat in quiet amazement as Guy related the affair between his mother and Lord Malcolm; the subsequent child that was conceived; the return of Guy's father from the wars, and the falling out which later occurred between them. The story was told so succinctly Shy could have imagined Guy was nowhere involved. He spoke nothing of his own thoughts, or feelings of the affairs of his parents. He told her the barest of facts and let his own unspoken memories hang in the dead space between words. The burning of Gisborne might have been some other nobleman's misfortune a hundred miles away, the exiled children fleeing from the scene of their parents' murderers—not Guy and Isabella, but fugitives in foreign lands. The only time Shy heard Guy speak of his true thoughts regarding that time was when he mentioned his sister:

"She hated me then," he said softly in between descriptions of their travels to France. "She blamed me for our parents' deaths and she never let me forget."

When he spoke of France he might have been speaking of Hell: "It was winter when we arrived. We had no money and no means of traveling to our mother's cousins' estates. Isabella took ill often, any money I could steal was used for medicine, not food. We had already sold any valuables we owned. I learned how to use a dagger that season." Shy touched the dagger still sheathed against her arm. There was no need to explain to what purpose Guy's skill with the weapon was meant for.

"I thought our cousins would provide for us. I was misled by the stories my mother told me of her family. They did not care for us. We were neither French nor English, yet hated entirely by both. We were kept on the estate as a charity. Isabella served as little better than a serving maid amongst the other girls. I fell in with the guard. I was a fair soldier and good with a blade. Being neither guard nor family I was privy to secrets passed between lords to their servants on subjects of compromising nature, which I told to those it concerned for a price. My cousin began to see value in this and cultivated this talent to his advantage. I rose quickly in the ranks and became his squire. There was money now. Anything he asked of me I did. Any suspicious foes were dealt with, and troublesome serfs were silenced. Failure to comply would mean exile for both myself and my sister, possibly imprisonment for the things I knew and could reveal. I hated that man."

"On the summer of Isabella's thirteenth birthday a man came to stay on my cousin's estates, an old friend of his, Squire Thornton of Shrewsbury. He took an interest in her, bought her gifts, flattered her. We thought nothing of it until he was due to leave for England. He asked me for permission to marry my sister. I said that would be impossible, she had no dowry. He said it did not matter. I still refused. Isabella will not tell you that because she does not know." This last was said with an accusatory glare at Shy.

"Thornton came again, protesting how he admired Isabella, and how I should be able to see how amiable he had been towards her. It was true, he had been. When I refused again he challenged me, thinking I thought him unworthy perhaps. He gave me a chest containing two hundred pounds. If that would not be enough to convince me he could provide for my sister, then I was a fool, he said. I consented that day and they were married two weeks hence. I knew Isabella's fears, but the man was willing to pay so much for her, such a man would provide for her, make her a true Lady, and love her...I thought. She cried the night before the wedding. She would not listen to my reasons for why Thornton was a good match. She mentioned our parents. None of this would have happened if it hadn't been for me. If I hadn't started that fire. If I hadn't murdered them. If I had...died instead...then she would not be an outcast in France and she would not have to marry. I left her. If this was my fault I would see it fixed. I would use the money and sail for England and reclaim what was stolen."

"I used the means I was given, and once in England I went on selling secrets for a price and ridding noblemen of any problems. I told you, I was considered good with a blade. In London there were plenty who required my service, I needed only one noble's patronage to plead my case before. Lord Vaysey found me to be invaluable. He offered me position among his retinue and I took it. I was both knight and assassin for him. I could kill a man and persuade his friends he was their enemy. And I could play the honorable nobleman at court in the same night. You learn when it is best to use one side of yourself and hide the rest. It is like being in battle. Learn when to strike and when to shield."

"Vaysey was loyal to Prince John, and when the problem of a staunch supporter of King Richard in Nottinghamshire became too tiresome, the Prince saw him ousted and Vaysey put into place as acting Sheriff. I saw myself rewarded for my years of service. With the Lord of Locksley gone to fight in the Holy Land a steward was needed to oversee the manor in his place. Lord Vaysey saw to it that I was given those lands. My lands. And I was no glorified overseer. When Vaysey insisted Locksley was not to be returned to the Richard-loyal Robin he only mirrored my original intent."

Guy grew thoughtful for a time. Shy wondered if he had more to tell her, or if he would stop, she already knew of Marian of Knighton and the disastrous nature of his love for her. She would never have asked him to relive that.

"Do you think that I cared for these peasants?" Guy asked her, his voice low and dangerous. "These are the same people who took up torches and helped to further the blaze in my home. They watched my home burn and I could see on their faces—every one of them—how they enjoyed it. They were going to watch my parents death, and they were taking pride in it. And _not one of them_ defended me or my sister. If we had been trapped in the manor they would have watched us die the same. They let our lands be given away. Everyday I thought of how I would make them suffer. They thought to kill me or exile me and I was going to prove with every torture, with every death that I was alive and _I_ was their lord and master. And, Shy..." there was a stuttering laugh in his voice, "I used to despise the idea of using a weapon. As a child my father could not get me to handle a sword or a bow. Perhaps if I had not been born so feeble-minded and weak I would have defended myself and what was mine that day."

Guy's chest heaved as he fought for breathe. His head was lowered, but he turned to look at her, his eyes dark. "Is that enough?" he asked her, "I cannot think of what else to say."

"Yes...that's enough now, Guy," Shy whispered.

She could not say more to him for he immediately rose to his feet and began to walk away from her. He stopped himself, as if remembering something important, and turned back. "I would have told you everything," he confessed, "if you had only asked."

"Well, I have asked you now."

"No, no, you never asked! You forced it upon me with a threat. I had to prove my life worthy to yours lest you leave me. I have to be a good man for your sake! I have heard such words before and I have been manipulated to perform in the same manner, but not by you, I thought, never by you. I am not a good man, Shy. I can never be even if I lived my life as pure as a saint's until the end of my days. If I say you are my salvation it is only because I need not ask forgiveness from you, I received only acceptance and the chance for a life much desired. Do you think I will become the model of virtue if you should leave? You are all I have!"

"I only meant to try and understand," Shy said, feeling as if she was fending off physical blows. Never had she seen Guy so raw and vulnerable as he appeared now, trembling with rage before her. "I thought if I only asked you would omit what you did not want me to know and I needed all of it, Guy."

"You have so little faith in me," Guy spat, truly offended. "When have I denied you anything? You may have allowed me to understand you, Shy, but you start away from anything else. Any excuse to run, right, Shy?"

"You frighten me sometimes," Shy admitted, "but I do not want to run. I will not run now."

"Then I'm satisfied I have passed your little test," Guy growled.

"Guy!" Shy cried, "I did this to mend the gap between us not widen it! I went about this all wrong and for that I am truly sorry. It was not meant to be a test. I do not want you to hide your thoughts from me, or your past. I should have asked you a long time ago and that was my fault, but don't lets hold this over one another. Please..." she hated the whimper that had crept into her voice, "it wasn't maliciously meant."

"You think I do not know that?" The anger abated in Guy's tone for a moment.

"Then it is possible to move on from here?" Shy asked hopefully. Her arms fidgeted awkwardly in her lap and at her side. She so badly wanted to embrace the man, but after what he had just told her any motion of comfort would appear as if wrought from a well of pity.

"Possible? Yes," Guy admitted, "but not now, Shy." He shrugged away from her outstretched hand. "Let me be."

He was embarrassed, the skin flayed and peeling from his body. No amount of whispered words of love or acceptance would soothe the wound now. But later, when he was not so raw, and he was not so brought to utter submission before her, would he perhaps listen to her words. Shy obeyed his request. His control over himself had slipped, Shy would not dare to contest his dominion over his own solitude. Perhaps that would prove a better comforter than her clumsy words.

* * *

Shy nursed a goblet of wine, which she sipped at gingerly. The drink warmed her, and provided her with a pleasant numbing sensation. She sat in the kitchens, at a small table by the stove. The drink coupled with the warm room lulled her into a static state. She had been sitting there for the better half of the afternoon. Guy had not yet returned. No one had come looking for either of them. Shy knew she was indulging her own self-pity, something she rarely did.

"Shy?" A voiced called from the doorway.

Shy's head shot up and she turned about. "Oh...Brennan." She could not help the disappointed tone in her voice.

"I've been looking for you," the quite man said as he stepped inside.

"Really?"

"All morning."

"I've been with Guy," Shy admitted. She winced, knowing that was far too blunt. Perhaps she had had a little too much of the wine than she had thought. She pushed the goblet away from her.

"Where is he now?"

"I don't know," Shy said softly.

"Shy!" The sudden spike in Brennan's voice caused Shy to look up at him. Brennan coughed and lowered his voice once more, "Shy...there is something I have been meaning to tell you."

Shy sighed, "Not now, Brennan..."

"Please," Brennan rested a hand upon her arm, "You must let me speak. If I don't I might never work up such courage again."

"Then...you had best take a seat," Shy gestured sadly to the empty space beside her on the bench.

Brennan sat down immediately. Shy was mildly disturbed at the urgent look in Brennan's eyes. His hands were shaking, she noticed, when he clutched at her own. Shy felt the urge to run away, but the drink and the shock of seeing her friend in such a state made her keep her place.

"Shy, I have always loved you. You are the first and only woman I have ever loved."

She opened her mouth to protest, sensing the direction Brennan was taking his words. Brennan placed a finger to her lips to silence her. "Don't worry, I know you do not love me. Lord knows I did enough to damage any chance of that. But that is not what I am here to speak to you about. Shy," he heaved a terrible sigh, "I have been keeping up with the pretense of a lie for these many long years."

"A lie?" Shy asked. Brennan was the most honest and forthcoming man she had ever met. The idea of him being capable of telling a lie, let alone to live with one for a decade seemed utterly impossible.

"I recall when we first spoke to one another," he smiled a little at the memory of it, "I told you of my family."

"Yes, I remember as well, but what has that to do with-"

"That is the lie. I am no second son of a family in York. I have no older brother, nor sisters."

"Is that all?" Shy asked, "Oh, Brennan, that is not so very..."

"No, you must let me continue. I need to find a way to...Shy it is an impossible thing. I never meant to deceive you, you must understand!"

"Brennan, you are scaring me."

"My mother, my true mother was a serving girl, a maid from Rotherham. No lands or title to her name. She worked in Lord Foster's household when she was quite young." He said no more, merely looked straight into Shy's eyes as the implication of what she was saying dawned on her.

Shy's eyes widened and she released Brennan's hands. Her skin turned an ashen gray. She looked away from him, horrified.

"She was sent away when she became pregnant with me. Foster having no children or heirs, sent for me. I was the only son. He could not recognize me, though, to do so would be to publicly proclaim what he did to my mother. So I was to be a part of his guard. With no family living, his lands would pass to me. It is written already in his will. I am recognized privately as Foster's son. I...I knew if I ever told you this you would never trust me. You would always believe I would be trying to trick you, to hurt you. And I wanted you to know me. So I gave you the lie. But here is the truth. All of it. It is why I could never leave Rotherham, or Foster. Believe me, if it was in my power I would have done so years ago. But any distance would have been futile. I am still his son. We are bound by blood."

Shaking, Shy managed to turn and look at Brennan. "You..." her voice was heavy and thick with emotion, "are _nothing_ like your father. I'll...I'll not have you _speak_ to the affect that you are." And she embraced him.

"Shy!" Brennan cried and clutched her tightly to him. He knew this was hard for her. How could it be anything but?

"You did right..." she said, struggling with her words, "to lie to me as you did. I would never have spoken to you if I had known the truth. How much more miserable my life would have been if I had never known you, Brennan. I'll not forgive you, there is nothing to forgive." She choked on her final words as she realized something so much greater in that moment.

"You truly mean that?" Brennan was stunned at her acceptance. He had expected her to run from him in that moment.

"I do," Shy said.

"I thought you would certainly hate me for this," Brennan replied, keeping Shy pressed tightly to him. "I could not bear the thought of it—could hardly fathom it..."

Shy looked up into Brennan's eyes. It was strange. She could not see any physical resemblance to Lord Foster hidden in Brennan's face. She smiled at him, no she was no repulsed at all. Foster and Brennan could not be more unalike. This was a misfortune of birth, and she would never hold Brennan accountable for the sins of his father. Lord knew, the man had tried hard enough to protect her over the years.

"There were moments I thought I would become like him," Brennan confessed. "That night I...pressed you too far. If I had not been so unthinking do you believe there might have been a chance..."

"Brennan, don't torture yourself in this way. We'll never know the answers to those questions. Besides, how could I have stayed in Rotherham after everything that passed?"

"I would have given it up," Brennan replied in a heartbeat. "I would have given the lands away."

Shy shook her head, "No, Brennan, I would never have allowed that. If anyone was better suited to cleanse such a place and restore a bit of honor to those estates it is you. I would not see you give up what is rightfully yours." She rose to her feet, feeling her head clearing from the drink.

"You are going?"

"I've been sitting here hiding for a little too long now."

"Going to find Sir Guy?"

Silence.

"Go on. I would not keep you," Brennan said softly.

A smile flickered upon Shy's lips. She bent down and pressed a kiss to Brennan's cheek. "You will always be my first love, Brennan, and my dearest friend."

He managed a smile for her, kissed her hand, and told her to go once again. He sighed as she left, covering his face with his hands for a moment as he regained his breath. He took in the warm stillness of the room, the distant, frantic footsteps of Shy as she ran further and further away. It was enough, he thought, it was enough for now.

* * *

**A/N: Yes, that just happened.**

** All right you have all been such a very patient audience. I promise fluff. Eventually. At some point. Maybe? :p**


	43. One Final Secret

XLIII

One Final Secret

Shy had to admit that Guy certainly knew how to get himself lost. It was already early evening and there had been no sign of him since their conversation in the morning. Shy hated to admit it, but she was beginning to grow worried. Archer had gone over the estates and the village, he had not managed to find him.

"Wouldn't think too much of it," he said, shrugging off his cloak and rubbing his chilled hands together, "Guy knows he's way around here. He'll be back."

Or that was exactly what he wanted them all to assume. Shy recalled when Guy left her in Rotherham without word when she had refused to accompany him back to Warwick. He had thought to spare her further confrontation of a useless argument. She had made him promise never to do such a thing again, but could he have broken this promise? Did he perhaps believe Shy unwilling to fully accept him? Or did he believe himself no longer deserving of such a life? There were many possibilities, all led to the same conclusion: Guy had left her.

Shy thanked Archer for his help and tried to still her mind from jumping to such wild conclusions. Yet as the evening dragged on without procuring the rogue knight, Shy found herself fraught with the many imaginings of what might have happened. He could have just as easily torn a stitch, he was still recovering after all.

The wind began to howl outside, angering the window-shutters. It had been a cold morning and the temperature had only dropped throughout the course of the day. It would be bitterly freezing once the sun set fully—and now there was the wind to contend with. Guy would freeze if he was still outside. Or maybe he had made his way to a tavern to find solace in drink as she had done in the kitchens. Perhaps he had lost track of time. The darker it became the harder it was to quiet the voices of doubt and concern.

At another low howl of wind, Shy broke down and fetched her cloak and ventured outside of the manor. The shock of the cold wind froze her in place for a moment as she focused on regaining her breath. The chilled air tickled her lungs in a most unpleasant way. It was still light enough for her to see her surroundings, but that light would fade soon. Shy forced herself into a quick march, enough to keep her blood pumping and the heat circulating in her limbs. She explored the areas closest to the manor-house, not knowing the areas beyond well enough to venture out in the near-dark.

She moved about, calling Guy's name from time to time in a vain hope he might be near. Why must he always be punishing himself like this? Shy thought in aggravation. He was always doing something to cause discomfort or pain to himself. This self-retribution had to stop. He still needed to take care of his wound lest he do serious damage to his recovering body. He needed to be at home and—that was when Shy knew exactly where Guy was.

In the fading light she could just make out a way to the outskirts of Locksley and the surrounding meadow. If she hurried she would not have to travel half of the way in the dark. Tightening her cloak, she took off in a run. The wind was against her, and she struggled through the cold, losing precious momentum and time.

She reached the meadow as the last vestiges of light were going out. Thin streaks of red swam low in the sky, the sun itself was lost by the sight of the forest. If Shy was wrong about this, she was going to have a rather hard time finding her way back to Locksley in the dark.

She meandered about calling for Guy, but felt as if the oncoming night was merely swallowing her words. Shy cursed herself for a fool. There was not going to be an answer, and now she was going to have to make a suitable shelter for herself. How could she be expected to find her way back now? She could try, she thought, but she might get herself even more lost. At least if she stayed in the meadow she would know where she was so she could start back at first light tomorrow. She shivered, if only it wasn't so blasted cold out! She trudged up and over a small hill, hoping to find a small patch of woodland she could make a camp in where the wind would not be so chilling. And there, at the foot of the hillside, she found him.

"Guy!" Shy called out, racing down the hill towards him.

"Shy?" He seemed genuinely surprised to see her. "What are you doing here?"

"What do you think? Looking for you!"

"How...how did you find me?"

"Very nearly didn't. I figured this was the last place anyone would expect to look. Have you been here all day, Guy? Oh, you are so cold!" Shy gasped, feeling how ice-like his hands had become. She took off her own cloak and draped it about him.

"I went to see my parents. Their graves. I could take you there," Guy offered.

"_Now_, Guy?" May wonders never cease...

"Well, perhaps another time."

"How sensible of you," Shy mumbled. "Come on, let's get you home before we freeze to death out here. Can you find the way back?"

Guy nodded, much to Shy's relief. So much for spending a freezing night stranded in the forest. Guy led the way back through the meadow and towards Locksley. As they walked he tried to give Shy back her cloak, but Shy was having none of it. She was perfectly healthy, he was still healing from a near fatal wound, and she was not going to let him forget it just yet. He needed to keep warm, she would managed just fine until they arrived back at Locksley.

As they stumbled back inside the manor they were greeted by a frantic and disorganized gang. Lady Thea viciously untied her cloak and threw it onto the ground. "By all the bloody demons in Hell!" She swore blasphemously. Archer whistled at the curse, muttering something about remembering that for later.

"We were just about to organize a search party," Kate supplied, seeing as Lady Thea was too overly aggravated to continue speaking. "Where did you go?"

"Not important," Shy said. "Ouch!" She exclaimed as Lady Thea gave her arm a sharp pinch.

"I have half a mind to take you by the ear and drag you up to bed without food," Lady Thea said darkly.

"My lady! I am not a child," Shy rubbed at her arm. "I am perfectly fine."

"Don't blame her," Guy intervened. "She went looking for me, if anything it is my fault."

"Think that I don't include you in this?" Lady Thea turned her critical gaze up at him. The woman was of a formidable temper. "If it were in my power, I would..." her tirade was halted when Archer gripped her arm, hard. She sighed grudgingly, "but I suppose no harm has been done."

To a passing servant, Lady Thea ordered to have food and wine brought for the wayward pair. Archer had that insufferable grin on his face, the kind that was most reminiscent of his outlaw brother. He winked at Lady Thea. "Shall we take ourselves to more comfortable quarters, my lady?"

Lady Thea batted at him, "I am not your lady," she huffed, "but yes, I suppose there's no point in further inquiry."

Once food was brought, Shy fell to it with a will. She sat herself by the hearth, taking in the warmth from the fire. The wine was ignored, having not been entirely forgotten from Shy's last moment of excess. Half way through a slice of bread, Shy noticed Guy was not eating. She set the bread down and wiped the crumbs from her fingers. "Guy? You need to eat, you haven't all day."

He was looking down, not at his plate of food, but at the floor. His eyes were barely visible as he cast his head down, locks of his hair falling forward onto his face. "I should be dead."

The words were so quiet, Shy doubted she had heard them at first. "No..."

"I should be! It is the only way to pay for my crimes. You should have let me bleed to death on the road; you should have killed me in the slave cart out of spite for proving the failure to your escape."

"I told you," Shy said with a feeble attempt at humor, "I am your punishment."

"Damn it, Shy, if _you_ are all the punishment God seeks to give me I am blessed indeed. This is reward. Reward undeserving and unsought. I destroyed all chance of a life when I murdered Marian," he passed a hand over his eyes, "that is a sin that can only be payed in the taking of another life. Every day I feel the guilt of the fact that I am alive while _she_ is dead. I wake every morning knowing I should be dead as well. And yet here..." he gestured about him hopelessly at a loss for words. "I am surrounded by a mockery of the life I always wanted." He gestured off in the direction Archer and the others went. "One could imagine them as friends, and one could see you as my..." he could not complete the phrase, the precious word fled from him. He looked grimly over at her, his eyes soulless, "You have said how I frighten you sometimes, do you know how much you frighten me? You have given me a life I can never deserve."

"What do I say?" Shy said softly. "What can I do? If I give you comfort you will only see it as undeserving, yet if I turn away you will think me cold and incapable of understanding."

"Why do you insist on wasting your affection on a dead man?" Guy retorted miserably.

"I say you have been looking at this wrong," Shy said, feeling herself burn with frustration at the slight to her love for him. "You told me once that Marian was the first to see a light in you, well I have seen it too, and God in all his infinite wisdom surely knows it. Did you never think this was a second chance, and not a deviation from the path set for you? Or..." she sighed, seeing him turns his eyes from her, unconvinced, "if it will make you feel better, did you not think that _you_ were sent to me for my sake?"

Guy shook his head. "I am poor reward for such a life, Shy."

"No, you are not," Shy said, clutching Guy's hands though he tried to struggle free of her touch, "You only ever acknowledged me as a free person, even when we were slaves. You once made a promise to show me that honor had not gone out of the world, I say you have kept to that promise. If I am alive now it is solely because of _you_, and I'll not have you belittle and say that the source of all my joy should be lying dead in a grave! I have come to understand something, Guy. You must cherish what you can accept, reconcile what you cannot, and realize what you cannot live without."

"It is easier for you to say such things..."

"Oh, damn you, Guy of Gisborne!" Shy laughed in frustration, placing her hands on either side of his face. "You can be such a misery when you set your mind to it. Let me put it in another way: I love you and may God grant me grace and patience, but I am going to see to it that you are made happy, whether you want to be or not!"

Guy was startled into life. No one had given thought to his happiness before. For a long while not even he had. He pressed his forehead against hers, feeling her breath against his skin, and her hands holding him in place. He closed his eyes and whispered in her ear, "Marry me."

The choked laughter was a shock. "By Heaven, Guy," Shy whispered back, "you are the only man I know who could speak of death and marriage in the same breath."

"But will you?"

"Of course," Shy said as if this was the most ridiculous question in the world. She gave him a small kiss, seeing the darkness fade from his eyes and the beginnings of a smirk appear on his lips.

"How long do you think it will be before we are married?" Guy asked her, as he pulled her under one arm so that she was nestled perfectly against him.

Shy shrugged, curling an arm about his waist, "It's a three day journey back to Warwick, and we will need time to settle, then there is the trial to be had...two weeks...three at the most."

Guy shook his head, frowning at this statistic. "Far too long."

"Somehow I believe we will manage it," Shy chuckled.

"No. I find I have need of my wife tonight."

"But...but it is far too late to summon a priest!" Shy exclaimed. "And there cannot be a marriage without a priest."

"Why not?" Guy looked enthused at his scheme. "I know the words to the vows. In three weeks time we can be married properly in the church, but for now only we need know we are already wed!"

"Is that even right?" Shy asked, bemused. "Can we really do that? I mean...we don't even have a ring, or..."

Guy reached into his jacket pocket and held out in the palm of his hand, a simple silver band. Shy stared at it as if Guy had conjured up some magical being. "Where...where did you..."

"Shy, you don't believe I was wandering around an empty meadow all day, do you?"

She saw the sheepish look in Guy's eyes, the shadowy fear that he had gone too far too quickly, that she would reject him. Undone by this action, Shy raised herself up on her knees to kiss him, but found herself held off. "I can't kiss the bride until the words are said."

"Well, then say them!" Shy exclaimed, feeling herself caught up in Guy's enthusiasm.

Guy returned the ring to his pocket in favor of taking Shy's hands as he recited his vows. He tried to steady his breath enough to get the words out. "I, Guy of Gisborne, take thee, Shy..."

"Siân," Shy interrupted in a stunned breath.

"What?"

"My...name. It's Siân."

Now Guy was looking at her as if she had materialized out of thin air. Shy sighed, "I meant to tell you before we were married. Shy is the name my father was fond of calling me, but Siân is my Christian name, given to me by my father. It is the only thing I have from him. I did not want it taken from me, I couldn't bear to hear it spoken. So I gave my name as Shy, a simple nickname to hide in. Please do not be angry with me, Guy. I did not keep it from you out of distrust or lack of love for you. It is the last thing I have that is just mine and my father's. It is the _only_ thing I have of my family. I had to keep it."

"And now, I am your family?" Guy said quietly, there was no anger in his tone.

"Yes, you understand."

Guy squeezed her hands. The revelation was shocking, but the fact that Shy had kept her name as such a treasure-and that she told him now-spoke only of how much she wanted this family, this marriage. He began again with a far steadier voice:

"I, Guy of Gisborne, take thee, Siân, to be my lawful wedded wife. To have and to hold, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part."

"I, Siân, take thee, Guy of Gisborne, to be my lawful wedded husband. To have and to hold, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer..."

"In sickness and in health..." Guy prompted.

"Right. In sickness and in health...to love and to...cherish..."

"Faster!"

"Guy!" Shy laughed as she struggled to remember words she had only heard in her life for the first time just moments ago, "till death do us part."

The ring was taken from Guy's pocket one again and placed on Shy's left hand. Shy lunged forward, kissing Guy with unbridled enthusiasm, knocking them both over onto the floor. "I believe I was supposed to kiss you," he pointed out, staring up at the woman straddling him.

"Tradition be damned, husband." Shy replied, kissing him again.

"Siân," Guy said, placing a hand upon her cheek. The name was still strange to him, he could not equate it with the woman before him. He kissed her. "Siân," he repeated her name twice over, each time punctuated with a kiss as he sought to reconcile the woman with her true name. "My wife..."

"You know you may still call me Shy," she said.

"You would have me feel I have married two different women!"

Shy laughed, "Well between my two names and your two sides, Guy of Gisborne, we shall have the strangest marriage ever heard of. And we are going to be very happy. All four of us."

And in that moment—as Shy stretched herself out atop him, her arms about him, a smile on the corner of her lips, the shine of her wedding band glinting in the fire light—Guy had to admit he had found a measure of happiness for the first time in his life.

* * *

**A/N: I think you'll forgive the shortness of this chapter? :D Well, I did promise y'all some fluff didn't I? **

**Thanks to LadyKate for being a Grammar Nazi, and helping me catch some errors in this chapter.**

**Also, as a reference note, Shy's real name, Sian, is pronounced: SHAH-N.  
**


	44. Reckoning

XLIV

Reckoning

Guy did not even have to open his eyes to know instinctively that Shy was not beside him in bed. Although that might have been for the fact that he had one arm stretched out towards her side, and the space was empty. He opened his eyes and struggled to sit up. A thin groan escaped his lips as he pressed a hand to his dully throbbing, bandaged side. His injury did not seem at all grateful for the strenuous activity of the previous night. To Hell with it, what was a little extra soreness and bruising? Guy leaned against the headboard, allowing his memory to wander back to that night. A smirk briefly touched upon his lips before it vanished and was slowly changed into a frown, as it always did when he was allowed to be lost in his own thoughts uninterrupted.

Had he done right in marrying Shy the way he had? He had not planned it for things to turn out this way. In a selfish moment of self-pity he found he could not handle having Shy be so close and yet so intolerably distant from him. Should he have saddled her with a man who would never be fully free of his sins? He knew that even though he felt a modicum of peace now, those dark thoughts and those hellish days would return again. It would be a blessing, yes, to have Shy with him during those days, but he hated to think how she would make herself suffer in order to help him. He had been over-hasty in this marriage. He should have let Shy think. He should have given her a day at most to decide.

With these thoughts to distract him he barely heard Shy reenter the room. "I didn't wake you, did I? When I left?" Shy asked, tucking a bath sheet about her body and flicking her wet hair back behind her ears. She walked over towards him and kissed him casually before striding away again to gather up her discarded clothes in order to change. "I tried so hard to be quiet," she said.

"No," Guy said, his voice still raspy with sleep. "Only just woke up."

The simple kiss; the light sound of Shy's high laugh and her mischievous glance as she unwrapped the sheet from about her body in order to dress, was enough to toss out the dark thoughts clouding Guy's mind. He had never seen her in such radiance before. Shy did not even seem to mind how exposed she was. Usually she was quick to dress, and more often than not, it was to prevent Guy from seeing the network of scars on her shoulders and back. Now even the scars seemed out of place. This woman had never been beaten, never enslaved, never chained. This was a free person. And Shy's freedom was bleeding into Guy. He found himself grinning, only noticing when Shy looked up at him and laughed at the foolish expression on his face. Guy quickly erased the smile, shifting his eyes away awkwardly.

"Oh, don't do that!" Shy pleaded, trying hard to stifle the laugh still in her brightened voice. She pulled the gray servant's garb over her head, pulling her arms through the sleeves. "Will you smile for me again?"

What did she take him for? Guy raised an eyebrow at her and the suspect look in her eyes, sweet and inquiring. Shy tilted her head to one side. She pulled a face and then laughed at her self. Getting no reaction aside from a severely bemused look, Shy sat down upon the edge of the bed and kissed him. As she pulled away she saw the flickering betrayal of a smile upon Guy's lips. Guy coughed in embarrassment, stilling his untrustworthy face and bunching the quilt up in his fists. "Why are you so intent on this?" he asked gruffly. There must be a way to salvage some of his pride.

"You got me to smile when I thought all light and goodness in me had gone out. I would be a very poor wife indeed if I could not do the same for you."

And at that Guy did smile.

He was rewarded with another kiss. Guy groaned underneath her, "Poor wife," he repeated a phrase Shy had used for herself. "To be sure, everyone will think I have married a poor serving girl, what with you still wearing these rags." He tugged at the sleeve of her dress. "We must get you something befitting your station, Lady Gisborne."

Shy merely shrugged. "Clothes are clothes, and speaking of which," she reached down and tossed Guy his own discarded outfit. "Get dressed. It won't be long before the others notice our mutual absence."

* * *

Sir Gavin wanted to be out of Locksley in less than two hours time. It was a long way back to Warwick and they had already been too long delayed. All about the manor there was organized chaos, as supplies were packed and the horses were readied. Shy, Kate, and Lady Thea were bundling up provisions when one of Gavin's soldiers and two of the Locksley stable boys came running inside. The soldier was supporting one of the young boys who had an arrow lodged in his arm.

"What happened? Good God, what happened?" Lady Thea asked, immediately pushing everything off of the table and signaling for the poor lad to be laid down so she could examine his wound.

"Soldiers coming down through the village," Gavin's man panted. "Two score at least. Saw us. Led by a woman."

Kate was the first to react to the news, "Get the other men," she ordered. "Barricade the doors. Now!"

The soldier ran off to do as he was bidden, but it was not long after his report that the sounds of alarm were raised regardless, as the other men saw the brigade coming towards the manor. Tables and chairs were overturned and placed before the doors and around doorless entry ways.

"Isabella wasted no time, I see," Tuck announced as he came striding in with the rest of the outlaws in tow. "She'll have the place surrounded in minutes."

"This is like Nottingham all over again!" Much said, pacing in agitation. "You don't happen to have any extra Byzantine Fire up your sleeve, do you, Tuck?"

"If we're careful, we could fight our way out," Sir Gavin suggested.

"Suicide!" Much shouted.

"There's double our forces out there," Tuck said.

Sir Gavin merely shrugged. "I've fought against worse odds and won."

Much gave a furious sigh. "Oh, and _where_ is Robin! He is never around when we need him."

There was silence from all as Much slowly realized his error. "Archer," he said quietly, "I...I meant Archer."

Kate placed a hand upon his shoulder as the man hunched forward in a silent spasm of unspoken grief. For a time no one could say anything. Kate remained firmly by Much's side until the man seemed more composed. Much clutched at Kate's hand with an almost fierce gratitude.

"I'm with Sir Gavin," Brennan interjected, in order to break the suffocating silence. "I'd rather fight than wait and see what this Isabella wants."

"We know what she wants," Kate said. "It's what she's always wanted: her brother's head on a spike. And she'll cut through anyone who stands in her way. Mark me, this is all about revenge, that's all it's ever been about."

"Charming," Sir Gavin was unimpressed at the explained motive. "Well, in light of the fact that we obviously aren't going to hand Guy over to her, I still say it would be better to plan an offensive strike."

Everyone grew silent as the sound of the troop's movements drew close. They could hear them circling the manor-the soft, agitated snort of a horse, the cold iron scrape of weapons being drawn—stealthily, as if to catch them unawares, when Isabella must have known they would be expecting them by now. Sir Gavin despatched his men to guard the back ways. No one dared to utter a word.

"I know you're in there," Isabella's shout seemed doubly rough given her disfiguring wounds. "It won't do you much good to hole yourself up. I'm in no mood for a siege. A negotiation on the other hand..."

"You'll get nothing of the kind from us, Isabella!" Kate ran for the window and shouted out to the front guard. From between the wooden panels, she could just make out the black-clothed, burned, woman sitting atop a white horse. "Might as well save your breath!"

Tuck hauled Kate bodily away from the window, although the woman fought like a mad creature. "We have enough supplies in here to last for weeks. You can't scare us out that easily!"

Isabella's laughter seemed to drip through the walls. "And I have an entire village at my disposal. Like I said, I'm in no mood for a siege. But you confer amongst yourselves, only I would not advise keeping me waiting too long"

"I don't like it," Tuck said, after releasing Kate. "True, a negotiation is much more towards Isabella's style, but who's to say she won't strike us down once we leave the safety of the manor?"

"We could always send one of us out. See what she wants," Brennan suggested.

"Me. Send me."

All eyes turned in surprise at the sound of Shy's timid voice.

"You?" Kate was still spitting fire. "It's thanks to you we're even in this mess. If you hadn't let Isabella go none of this would be happening!"

The eyes were still trained on Shy, but now many narrowed into uninviting slits. A few of the soldiers eyed her with a look that blazed of suspicion. "Why did you let her go?" Kate asked, advancing a step towards her.

"I..."

Some took this as an excuse to move closer as well and Shy soon found herself about to be mobbed by overwhelmed and battle-enthused soldiers. "Maybe you wanted her to escape?" Kate continued to pry, egged on by fear and her blind-hatred of Isabella.

"No. I thought that I had..."

"Made a deal with her?"

"_No!"_

Two of the soldiers were getting too closer for comfort. None had weapons drawn, but the look of fury at being duped into a battle against losing odds and all to the thanks of a woman who had let her emotions run the ruling of her judgment was evident on their tensed faces. The unspoken violence choked Shy's speech. Even Kate with all her interrogating questions was forgotten as she stared up at the angered eyes and the advancing steps of the men. She spluttered, stuttered on explanations and phrases that sounded (to her dismay) more like whimpers than words.

There came a sound of a sword being unsheathed, but none of the men had drawn a weapon. A hand was placed upon her shoulder, gently, yet forcefully pushing her back. Guy stood between her, Kate, and the soldiers.

"That is enough!" Tuck's voice boomed out. "We solve nothing by blaming one soul. Isabella is here. Now. And we must all fight. If we turn against ourselves she will have won without ever having to give a command."

Kate grew silent, but she did not grow less sullen. Guy sheathed his sword and Shy touched his arm in thanks. He pulled away from her, casting her a disappointed and angered glare before retreating back to the corner of the room, where had had been observing in an almost silent horror and fury.

Knowing that her presence was not welcome amongst the others, Shy drifted towards her husband.

"You were warned about Isabella," Guy hissed before Shy could speak.

"I thought...I thought we had reached an understanding," but the excuse was a weak one, Shy could feel the thinness of it on her tongue as she stared up Guy's hardening gaze.

"Did you think you were bonded in some way? Did she make you believe your mutual sufferings made you equal? Shy, Isabella knew you to be mine. You were always her enemy."

"She never made me believe anything. I recognized her pain. She listened to me. Guy, I gave her ample time to harm me and she never did."

"That is the trick to Isabella. She never lashes out when you expect it."

"Then how could I have foreseen this happening?" Shy shouted loud enough to attract the attention of all. Aggravated, Shy blushed crimson and lowered her head to avoid the questioning stares. Guy was spared from having to provide an answer by Tuck's signal. He headed over to the monk almost gratefully. Shy was left to follow in his wake.

"What can I do?" Shy asked the only person standing alongside her.

Kate gave her a critical stare. "You'll do the same as everyone here when it comes down to it. Fight."

"Not sure I want you at my side when the fighting gets underway," Shy said with an ill-concealed sneer of resentment. "You're more likely to stab me in the back than watch it."

"Look, I don't like you. You don't like me. If we had the time for a tussle of our own I'd have you on your back in a moment, but the fact is we're in this together. Tuck's right. Can't fight amongst ourselves at a time like this. Truce?"

The sneer was gone from Shy's face. Neither of the two women offered one another hands to shake. Shy only nodded at her before they both turned their attentions to Tuck, who was outlining a plan of escape.

"We'll have to split her barricade. The soldiers are all mounted so we'll have to attack the horses; bring them down and break up the lines. I want three teams. When we go through these doors, Sir Gavin will take half his men to the far right, herd them away from the others. Brennan and the others to the left, that leaves us," he gestured to Guy, Shy, and the rest of the outlaws, "to deal with pushing the center back. At best we'll create a gap for us to break through."

"And then what?" Much asked.

"Then we run. Split into pairs and meet back at the camp in Sherwood after leading away any men pursuing."

"What about Isabella?" Kate asked with a scowl, "We're not going to let her get away again?"

"Isabella is the least of our problems," Tuck said, "Let's get out of here alive first."

"What if the line holds?" Shy asked, "What then?"

There was a beat of silence from Tuck, "If the line manages to hold, there won't be a then to concern yourself with."

"Thanks, but I don't plan on dying today, if it's all the same to you."

A great shout came from outside the manor as Isabella called to them again, "Time is up! What do you say? Shall we talk amongst each other like civilized people?"

"Positions," Tuck whispered as everyone ran to the closed and bolted doors. Gavin and Brennan stood on either end of the lock ready to pull it out and push open the doors at Tuck's signal.

Shy came up against Guy. "I know you are disappointed in me," she whispered, "but when this gets underway I need to know you'll be at my side. I don't think I can do this otherwise, truth be told I'm scared witless." She was clutching her dagger so tightly there was a tremor running through her hand.

"Shy...what made you think I would ever be elsewhere?" Guy said with a thin smirk. He watched as his wife gave him a small nod of her head and a half-convincing smile to prove whatever courage she had.

"All right, Isabella," Tuck shouted back, "We'll listen to your demands."

The bolt was pressed out and pulled.

"Very well. Step outside and we shall talk."

Guy held out his arm to keep Shy behind him. He unsheathed his sword in time with the others. The anger he had felt towards Shy melted away. He knew it would return after they managed to escape, but now all that mattered was keeping Shy alive and safe, then he would be almost glad to berate her until kingdom come from the safety of Sherwood Forest.

"As you wish, Isabella," Tuck said.

The door was pushed out.

"_Now!_"

They surged out from the opened doors, weapons drawn, but all cries of battle died on their lips as they took in the sight of Archer, neatly bound and kneeling in the dirt, the soldier on Isabella's left training an arrow directly at him. Isabella laughed as she saw the moment the battle light went out of every individual's eyes. "For shame, and you hadn't even heard my demands yet."

Tuck's eyes were wide as he tried to find a new solution to this problem. "What do you want?" he asked in solemn defeat. Isabella had him. He would not do anything to jeopardize the life of his friend and leader.

"That's how you handle a negotiation," Isabella said, still not finished toying with him yet. She enjoyed watching the pompous preacher writhe in frustration. "Don't worry I'm not going kill my brother here. He's just insurance of good behavior. I see it was good luck we caught him before he managed to sneak back inside the manor, or you might have given me a good run, well played."

"What do you want, Isabella?" Tuck snapped, past the point of exasperation.

"What I've always wanted." She shrugged as best she was able. "First, come claim your friend."

Tuck came forward hesitantly, wary of a trap. Isabella shook her head, "Ah, no, not you, my brother can come and get him. Best to keep this in the family, don't you think, monk?"

Guy did not move at first, but upon seeing Isabella's impatience he took a step forward. No swords were raised, no bows drawn; good sign. He took a further step and another, keeping his eyes trained on his sister, watching for any shifts in expression, any subtle cues to one of her soldiers. As soon as he was half way between the manor and Archer, Isabella smiled. Guy stopped and drew his sword, feeling his blood run hot at the shrieking laughter from Isabella at his reaction. "Oh, put that away it won't help. I said I was keeping this strictly in the family and I know I am soon to have a new sister, aren't I, Guy?"

Too late, Guy whirled around to see that one of the soldiers had picked up his bow and notched an arrow to it. He pulled it taunt and there was no mistaking the arrow's intended target. Shy froze, arms half raised to fend off a shot that would not yet come. A strangled cry of outrage emerged from Brennan as he moved to break position to defend Shy. The bowstring pulled back tighter.

"I wouldn't advise that. Move and you'll only succeed in killing her. That goes for all of you," Isabella said.

"What do you want, Isabella?" Guy asked, hoping that his panic didn't show. "You've got me. I'm undefended." He threw down his sword. "Leave Shy out of this."

"I plan to. I'm not going to do a thing to her, Guy, that's entirely up to you. Have I not done a good job of explaining my terms? Let me clarify. You can come and claim Archer and you can let Shy die, or you can go and save your betrothed and let your brother die. I won't influence you, I promise, but their deaths, my dear brother, are entirely in your hands, either way. I'll give you time. All the time you could wish, although I would advise choosing quickly, holding a bow in position for too long can be tiring, and you know what happens if an archer's hands should slip. So choose, Guy. Who do you want to kill?"

* * *

**A/N: I'm am so sorry for such a long delay! Gosh darn RL getting in the way of my writing time. Hopefully this should appease? Maybe? :p More on the way! **


	45. One Way Out

XLV

One Way Out

Guy thought about how many things could happen in a moment. That very morning Shy had been teasing him on his bed, the bed they had shared their wedding night in. But the wedding ring was not on Shy's hand now. It hung from a chain around her neck, invisible under the gray cloth of the servant's dress. Only an hour ago he had been thinking of the journey back to Warwick. How for once, he felt no impatience at the idea of riding for three days straight, even if he had to endure the company of the other outlaws and his brother. His brother who was now kneeling in the dirt with an arrow aimed at his heart. Funny how he hadn't realized how much a word like 'brother' could mean. What it could imply. His younger brother was all the blood relation he cared to acknowledge. And in those past few weeks he had come to know him, come to see him as the grown man he was. The Locksley blood in Archer rankled Guy, but the man was a Gisborne. And the blood that could be spilled would be his equal. It would only be the work of a single moment.

He turned his head to see Shy, arms up in supplication, staring down the point of an arrow. Her eyes never left the soldier's. At a sudden movement, the archer jerked at the bow and then there would be stillness again, save for the rapid pounding of Guy's heart every time the string pulled back. From the corner of his eye he could see Little John, bodily restraining a half-mad Brennan. He watched as the man fought and kicked like a wild beast. He could even hear frustrated and panicked snarls. He was only doing what Guy himself wished he could. But he could not go to Shy. The guilt of Archer's death would taint their lives, there would be no escaping that guilt. A brother killer. A kinslayer. Every time he would look at Shy he would only see the arrow protruding from his brother's body. Yet he could not save Archer. He could not turn his back while the arrow slammed into his defenseless wife. He blinked, his mind refusing to conjure up those images.

This was what Isabella wanted. It was not her way, Guy admitted, this grand execution. It reeked of Vaysey's flair. He would have delighted in torturing a victim in just this way. Kill your own family? Or tear out your own heart? He looked up at Isabella's cold eyes. Not even a flicker of amusement, just calculation. Now that was Isabella. Behind this grand scheme was a woman yearning for revenge by any means necessary. Guy knew she meant to see him suffer. Well, she had chosen well, but he would not give her the satisfaction. He remained motionless.

"I warn you not to try my patience, brother," Isabella snapped, "At my command my men will shoot them both down. Do you want them _both_ to die?"

She had him. He could not stand and do nothing, but at the slightest hint of his intended movement, bows were pulled back. Even a signal to one of the outlaws would mean certain death for both Shy and Archer.

"Guy, listen to me, go to Shy," Archer said into the stillness. The man's head was lowered so he could not see Guy's wide-eyed astonishment.

"How noble of you," Guy said. "Don't act the part of Robin with me."

"So you would rather save my life? Why? I am hardly much of a brother, Guy and I'll not live so you can blame me for Shy's death, a death I know you would gladly follow her into."

"Archer?" Shy shouted, "Archer, don't you dare give him advice. Don't you tell him to let you die. I'll not have him blame himself for any deaths. Not ever. You keep silent. You keep silent and let me _think_."

Archer only grinned, "See how she knows you better than I?"

That was Shy's way, Guy thought, to find a solution when everything was hopeless. Had she not lived her entire life thusly? Even from this short distance, Guy could almost feel her frantic little movements as her eyes darted everywhere. There was no solution. Not this time. He wished she would just stop. Her words burned. Still protecting him and leaving him useless.

"Time is running out," Isabella said, raising her arm to give the signal.

"No!" Guy shouted. Let her wait. Let her give him time to find an answer.

"Guy, go! Get Shy, run!" Archer pleaded.

"Don't you dare move, Guy!" Shy screamed.

Isabella tightened her fist. Once she moved her arm down the archers would fire. Guy felt himself ripping apart, wanting to run to both his brother and his wife. The pain could have been physical it was so acute. "I..."

A blot at the edge of his vision caused him to turn. Quick as a shadow, Shy was running headlong towards the soldiers, as if hellbent on flinging herself onto their swords. Startled, the archer let the arrow fly and Shy made a wild leap to one side, but even Guy could hear her gasp of pain. How many things could happen in a single moment. Shy fell to the ground, the arrow thunking into the grass a pace away. And the horror which welled within Guy was past all power of screams.

_Now get up_.

Smart Shy, his clever Shy, distracting the soldiers and Isabella into buying themselves more time.

_Get up now_.

A breeze picked up and ruffled the raven hair and tugged at the gray sleeves of that servants dress. That dress that Guy so hated seeing on her. Somewhere Brennan had begun screaming like a man set to fire.

_Get up_.

The grass around Shy turned a sickly dark color. Blood, a small line of it, not enough to be a pool, not enough to cause worry.

_Please get up._

Before him he heard Archer give a groaning heave and kick at Isabella's horse. The creature reared up, startling the soldier beside her, who misfired his arrow. The weapon overshot its mark by a goodly distance and landed harmlessly in the grass. Archer was on his feet and Guy saw him reaching for his sword with his bound hands. He cut through the ropes binding his hands and set upon the soldier who had tried to kill him while Isabella tamed her spooked mount.

Guy heard the ragged cries of the outlaws and Sir Gavin's soldiers as they launched themselves at the troop before them. The plan was in motion, just as Tuck had wanted. Only what was Guy doing all the way over here? He was supposed to be with Shy, she had promised to stay at his side through the battle. He blinked. Shy was still lying in the grass. Brennan was standing over her, shielding her body from further harm. He fought like a fiend out of hell. Should not Guy be doing that? He looked down only to find his sword returned to his hands, and bloodied. When had the blood gotten there? At his feet lay three soldiers. He could not even remember having killed them. The world was moving in pieces.

Guy began to move as a man pulled through an icy stream. Shy could be losing blood. He needed to help her. Little John knelt at Shy's side and hefted the woman in his arms. Shy's head lolled back as if cut from a string and her limbs lay downwards like broken boughs. She looked so small against John. So small, so pale, so...

_Get up. Get up. Get up!_

With a mournful stride, Little John carried the body of Shy back inside Locksley, to ensure that she would not be marred further by the battle. And to bring her to Lady Thea, who would want to see, who would want to know how she had...died. Died? That was an odd thought to have. Died.

The thin rivulet of blood still shown on the grass. How Guy came to be standing over it he did not quite know. He had walked, he knew, but he could not feel his legs to be sure. His Shy's blood on the grass; a strange sight.

There came the white flash of Isabella's horse and Guy felt himself running. His arms were raised as he pulled his sister down from her mount and threw her upon the ground. He tried to form words, a question, but his tongue was numb in his mouth. He proceeded to shake her violently, slamming her back against the dirt. His fingers itched their way towards her throat, snaking about her. Red mist filtered around the edges of his vision.

"You...you were supposed to choose her!" Isabella shrieked. "The death of your brother would have ruined you both. You were...were supposed to choose her!"

"She thought she could save you," were the only words Guy felt capable of saying.

"She was a fool."

"Why?"

"Because you deserve to suffer for all that you've done!"

It was true. He knew he was cursed. Yet he still chose to flaunt his fortune before God, by claiming Shy as his wife he knew he had damned her. He could feel it in the very core of him. _I would rather die than be with you, Guy of Gisborne!_ The nearly ancient words crept into his memory. Die. Yes. That was all he was good for. Killing. Death. It followed him everywhere. Fingers tightened over Isabella's throat and she choked on a spiteful scream.

"I will _never_ stop hating you," Isabella coughed before lapsing into unconsciousness.

Guy released his sister, losing his courage at the final minute before he crushed her windpipe beneath his hands. She lay helpless and pitiful on the ground, bruises already forming on her neck and throat. He knelt there for some time as the battle faded around him. Men were deserting at the sight of their commander lying defeated. The outlaws let them run, hired swords would not seek revenge, nor were they likely to remain in Nottingham. They were chased off.

Guy sat as still and calm as stone. Archer knelt beside him and used the rope that had been used to bind him to truss Isabella up once more. The two brothers sat side by side after the deed was done. Silence hovered over them.

Guy turned, noticing the soldiers retreating in earnest. The archer who had fired the arrow at Shy was probably among them."He's getting away," he murmured. But at the sound of his own voice an energy awoke within him. "He's getting away!" And he found himself on his feet, bloodied sword in hand. Archer pounced on him and wrestled him to the floor. "_Get off of me! Let me kill him!"_

"He's dead, Guy. I killed him. He's dead," Archer assured.

He did not care. He writhed on the ground screaming, cursing, making his voice a ruin of mourning cries. The world was moving in pieces and they were beginning to fall. Sense filtered slowly back into Guy's mind. The blood on the ground was Shy's. Shy was dead. He tried to deny it. Think of the morning! She had been trying to make him smile. See how bright and alive she is? But the blood...the arrow. He was keening, he heard the inhuman sound ringing in his own ears and it frightened him so he stopped and lay panting, throat burning and soar, heart hurting, head swimming. Where was his sword? He would make short work of what remained in this life and join his wife in the next. Damn his brother. Archer had pried the weapon away from his hands while he had flailed like a madman.

"Let us go inside," Archer said softly, hauling Guy to his feet, but letting him lean against him for support.

"No." Guy said. "No. I won't." He would not see Shy's lifeless body sprawled out on a table to the accompanying cries of Brennan and Lady Thea. His wife was as alive as any creature, that corpse inside the manor would not be her.

"Guy," Archer lowered his voice so as not to let his words shame him, "would you leave Shy to face the dark alone?"

A chill passed down Guy's spine as he thought of the nightmares Shy always had, but where she was now there would never be nightmares, but his confused mind could not hold onto that final thought. Shy was alone. "Alone?" She would need him. "I should..." The blood, the falling, and the arrow. "No..."

"Come, Guy, I'll walk with you."

Guy lacked the strength to move himself, he felt dragged across the ground until they reached the manor door. Voices were speaking in harsh, chiding tones, it was unlike what Guy thought he would hear. Perhaps Lady Thea was still disciplining Shy even in death. That would be like her. Chiding her for dying before her. His heart twisted.

They turned the corner into the foyer. Archer swore so loudly Guy winced in pain. Guy raised his tired eyes. There, sitting atop a table was Shy, Lady Thea attending to a neat row of stitches on a most ugly looking gash along her chest. Little John was off in the corner, a grim look upon his face. Brennan looked as if he had sobbed enough for a lifetime and he now stood mute and red eyed in the corner. Lady Thea was silent as well, and her lips were thin and she looked too angry to speak. Shy looked over at Guy, wincing as Thea tied off a strip of cloth to bandage the stitching with. Her arms were held out to him. "Guy, I..."

Guy nearly collapsed, holding tight to a wooden beam to support his stricken frame. Archer ushered the others out of the room, although it took Lady Thea more convincing then most. Shy looked painfully confused at everyone's reaction, but she did not protest at being left alone with Guy.

"Guy?"

Such a gentle question from a voice he thought gone out of the world. Guy staggered towards her, drinking in her living form. His mind working furiously to keep up with this miracle before him. Slowly, he placed his arms around her, enfolding her. His head lowered to the top of her shoulder where her steady pulse beat against his skin. He inhaled deeply, breathing in the scent of her. And softly, oh so softly, Guy began to weep. He shook little and his tears were silent, but they soon gave way to racking sobs as he became unmanned at the warmth and strength of the body against him. He pressed Shy to him, his cries of relief, usurped grief, and mental anguish wracking his body.

Shy's arms immediately encircled him as she fought to comfort him, hushing him and speaking endearments in a broken tone, "Oh, Guy...my love...oh please hush... what can I do?"

Guy gave Shy a violent push, knocking her flat onto the table. Shy sat herself up only to find herself shoved back down again. Was he to be coddled like a weak child? Shy opened her mouth to say something to him, something no doubt, to ease his far flung emotions. He pushed her again.

"You...I thought..." he covered his mouth with his hand. His voice was a mere rasp and it broke with the weight of the heavy sobs still behind it. His shame mounted. Shy looked up at him, so stricken now she dared not speak. That was well and good. She had tricked him. It had been a ruse. He saw it all before him now. The trick had not been for him, but he had been played nonetheless.

"Do you have any idea..._any_ understanding..."

"I thought of finding a way out," Shy was not trying to argue with him. Her breath came fast in her lungs, sounding as if she might very well burst into tears herself. "I had to make Isabella believe I was...God help me, Guy. Forgive me."

And oh, how she meant it. Guy saw the look of pained sorrow in her eyes. She thought him completely helpless now? Worthy of a look of pity? Of course she should when he flung himself at her and sobbed like a babe. But it was her fault he had been reduced so. Hers and her unthinking, unflinching need to run headlong into mortal danger. She only saw the solution, never the consequence. He blessed and cursed her in one breath. A blessing for Shy's life and a curse for her selfish nature.

"Please..."

"Please, _what_? Hold you and forgive you? Did you know you could avoid that arrow, Shy? Did you?"

"I...I only wanted to...no. No, I didn't think I would dodge it in time."

A strangled cry emerged from Guy and he pushed her back down upon the table. He would not dare hurt her; the hard shove was only a fraction of the violent anger he felt capable of committing. Shy gave a grunt of frustration as she caught herself and pushed herself upright once more. "Isabella would have killed us both. I couldn't have you carry that guilt. I had to do something. If it killed me at least you would not believe yourself the killer."

Guy could have laughed if such fury had not been burning hot in his veins. Tears were still falling from his eyes. "So you would have me watch you die? You would have me believe you to be dead, even for a moment. Even for an ill conceived trick? You selfish creature."

"Someone had to do something!" She held her head in her hands, shaking back and forth.

"You are always doing this. You are always throwing yourself into danger. Never _thinking. _And one day it will get you killed. And I won't watch you die, Marian!"

The name would not be taken back. The name had left his lips without Guy ever feeling that it had crossed. It took a moment to realize he had misplaced Shy's name. It was another before he dared look over at her.

Shy knitted her hands together, pulled them apart, slumped her shoulders over, placed her hands against one another again, crushed herself down to something small. She blinked and straightened again and stopped fidgeting. She would not look at him. Her arms hugged her own frame. "I am sorry..." she said faintly as if her throat had narrowed to the width of the eye of a needle. "I am not Marian."

The apology was not a new one. How often had Shy expressed her sorrow for him whenever he spoke of Marian? How had he never heard it before? The plea in her tone, the regret in her words. She was not sorry for him or for Marian. She was sorry she was not Marian. Could not be. Never would be. Guy saw the lost look in Shy's eyes as she realized her carefully constructed secret was crumbling. She looked like a caged creature, the last time he saw such a look they had still been in the slaver's cart and Shy had been searching for the way out.

"Shy..." Too far, he had gone too far. He had not been thinking, the fury and the fear had been too great. Well, the fury and fear were forgotten for now. He reached for his wife who he knew to be hurting in a way he could not rightly help, or fix.

"I am sorry!" Shy cried, humiliated and ashamed at herself. She leapt from the table and stumbled from the room.

Guy lowered his arms, placing them down upon the table as he tried to piece himself back together bit by bit. As the dust of the accursed day settled around him the fury returned in force. With a snarl that taxed his worn voice to the breaking point, Guy overturned the table, sending it crashing against the wall, where a fine crack bent and split the center of the dark wood.

* * *

**A/N: O_O *Flees***


	46. Common Ground

XLVI

Common Ground

The water in the basin had started to turn pink as Archer washed out a gash running elbow to wrist. He was muttering curses underneath his breath; the water stung something fierce. Holding a swath of bandages in one hand, he began the tedious task of wrapping them around his arm, using his teeth to hold the loose strip of the bandage steady. When he tried to move his arm to get a better grip, the bandages fell apart and unravelled. Archer swore again, louder this time.

"Leave it to a man to make a mess of so simple a task," Lady Thea said, leaning against the door frame.

"And leave it to a woman to be of no help at all," Archer retorted with another curse biting the end of his words as he bent to retrieve the falling bandages.

"Is that an invitation?"

"Do you want me to ask again?"

With a false sigh of impatience, Lady Thea strode over to the irascible man and, sighing again, held out her hand. "Let me see." She examined Archer's arm, winding the bandages in her own hands before wrapping them about her patient. "You and Shy—you are lucky the two of you only came away with scratches today."

"That's not what I heard. I heard Shy got as good as a lashing from Guy."

Lady Thea grimaced, "And now neither are to be found. Like a pair of children, they always seem to know how to never be found when they want to. Shy was always good at that, but she always came to me in the end...she won't come to me now though. She'll go to that brother of yours, much good it'll do them."

"Oh yes," Archer chuckled darkly, "we Gisborne lot are quite skilled at hurting the ones we cherish."

"I didn't mean-"

"Yes, you did."

Archer shrugged away from Lady Thea as soon as the last knot was tied. He picked up his discarded tunic and threw it on over himself, awkwardly trying to fit his injured arm into the sleeve. He refused all help from Lady Thea. "You know," he said, as he tucked in the tunic and fastened on his belt, "you are not as cold as you pretend to be."

"And where do you presume to know me at all?" Lady Thea laughed, amused at the man's blunt tone.

"A man knows. You are a beautiful woman, my lady, yet act like an old, withered crone."

"I am not certain I want to be _your_ lady. You would do well to learn your place, outlaw."

"Ah, but I have no place. And neither do you." Archer could tell he struck a cord with that. "Unless you have always wanted to be just the Lady of Rotherham, then my apologies."

Lady Thea grabbed Archer by his injured arm and squeezed until he gave a grunt of pain and tried to pry her fingers from him. "And you? Playing the great charmer, you think no one sees through those little winks of yours? Pathetic man. At least I have some semblance of pride!"

Archer grabbed Lady Thea's face, his fingers roughly tilting her chin up towards him. "I find pride doesn't tend to keep one all that warm at night," he mocked her, giving her a little wink just to further fan her annoyance.

Lady Thea shoved him away from her, storming from the room, knocking over the basin of water for good measure. Archer rubbed at his sore arm with a thin laugh. "Tell me you are not thinking fondly of me...even now!" He called out to her down the hall, his laughter doubled at the sound of a violently slammed door.

* * *

Shy contemplated what it would be like to leap from the uppermost branch on the tree. She was already quite high up as it was, she dared not climb any further lest a weak limb snap beneath her. Now was not the time to think about falling. If she wanted the air to rush at her she would decide if she wanted it to or not. Her back was against the strong trunk and she let her legs dangle on either side of the thick bough. She recalled something that had been said to her when she had returned to Rotherham: how she had loved to climb trees. Well, she didn't remember the trees in her village, but she did not doubt the fact that she loved them. Nothing was ever so peaceful as it was when viewed from the bough of a sturdy old tree. Nothing made greater sense in the world.

Yet, now the tree wasn't providing her with much comfort. There was no escaping this clawing shame, this guilt she could not even begin to understand. She had stood before Lady Thea, Archer, and the rest of the outlaws and begged for forgiveness, although she did not know why she did. If she hadn't rushed the soldiers she and Archer would both be dead. Or Guy would have chosen one of them and would have made his life a living hell. She could not have that. She remembered those days in the slaver's cart when he first returned to life. A more wild, misery-filled man she had never seen, a man whose pain seemed to challenge her own suffering. That had been both a bother and a joy, a nuisance because she was unaccustomed to sharing misery, a joy because she had always wanted to share it. She knew she had done wrong today, it was in her best interest to apologize, and yes, she had hated playing the part of the dead in order to break the stand-off, she had hated worrying those she cared for most...but she did not hate why she had done it. Injury was preferable to watching Guy go through another moment of his sister's torture.

Shy held her head in her hands. When she closed her eyes she saw Guy's furious face and the tears pouring unchecked from his normally proud, stoic eyes. If she dared to stop her ears she still could hear him crying, no, not crying, sobbing and wailing and choking and—she squeezed her hands to her ears. She knew she had done right. Didn't she? Better Guy crying over her living body than having him wail over a corpse he would blame himself for. Rationalization didn't help stem the vivid reflection, nor did it take away the pain.

"I thought I'd find you somewhere out here," a quiet voice said from below.

Shy had forgotten about the ground from up on her natural perch. She knew Guy's voice instinctively. He sounded wearily calm, and sad...sadder than she had ever heard before.

"Will you come down?"

She turned her face away from him. Guy gave a small sigh and she heard him arrange himself into a sitting position. She hazarded a glance in his direction. Guy was sitting against the tree trunk, one knee was raised where his arm was resting on it. It was clear he meant to wait for her. Shy yearned to sprout wings so that she might fly off, or fly higher. Anything to get away from that intolerably sad voice, and those sorrowful eyes.

"Shy...Shy, I-"

"Don't!" Shy hissed, and then quietly, "Just don't." She did not want apologies spoken in such a gentle way. She did not want to still hear the tears in his voice. Did he not know how it drove her to madness?

Guy lapsed into silence and for a time there was nothing that passed between them but the chill late afternoon breeze. Shy could see over the manor-house from her perch, and beyond that the grounds near the stable yard where Isabella and her soldiers had tried to hold them off. There was where the archer stood with the bow and arrow. There was were Archer knelt in the dirt and the grass. There might have been where Guy stood half way between herself and his brother. She had done the right thing. She knew this.

"I did the right thing."

"You know that to be false."

"If I was not your wife, if I had been a soldier or a...just a person of little consequence, would you still tell me it was so very wrong?"

"Shy, you are not a soldier, and you are of every consequence to me. I'll not debate this with you."

Shy hit her head against the tree in her frustration. "If I had been anyone else you would have praised me for my bravery."

"To hell with bravery. I'd rather you be more of a coward."

"You said you loved me for my spirit and my bravery!" Shy leaned out over the bough to yell at her husband, in the glow of the sun she imagined she looked quite the firebrand. "Or is that only when it serves you? I am not the only selfish one!"

"I'll not shout up at you from a tree. Come down," Guy commanded in that low tone that brooked no argument.

"Come and fetch me yourself if that is what you want," Shy replied with a vicious little snarl.

"Shy!"

"You would climb up here if I was Marian," Shy said softly.

Silence again from her seething husband. He locked eyes with her and there was true regret there. Regret that made Shy feel sorry for her sudden words. Guy rose to his feet, grabbed for an overhanging branch, and heaved himself up. Shy gave a groan. "No! You'll probably break your neck. I'll come down."

As Shy began to climb down she realized that this may have been Guy's intention all along. She swung herself off of one of the branches and for a heartbeat she was flying before the ground sent shocks up her legs as she landed. Standing before her husband made her feel awkward, like a hawk with clipped wings. Guy gestured for her to come near him. She knew he meant to take her hand, or embrace her. None of which she deserved.

Before Guy could annoy her with his gentle act Shy dodged away from him, ducking and weaving, with her hands near her head. She straightened, feeling her legs snap into the fighting stance that Guy had taught her during their time in Warwick. "Hit me," she said with a grunt.

"What?"

"Afraid?" She tried to jab at him, but he merely backed away.

"Shy, stop this."

"Forgotten our lessons, Guy? We are behind, I know. You owe me quite a lot now I believe," Shy felt a small smirk form on her lips as she continued to dance around him, feigning the odd punch or two.

"Shy, I don't want to fight you."

"Yes you do. You want to fight with words."

"I can't fight you."

Shy dropped her guard for a moment, glaring at him. "And I can't stand how gently you are trying to argue with me. There was a time you weren't afraid to fight me."

"That was different," Guy shook his head. "We barely liked one another. And I won't hurt you now. The idea that I did still sickens me."

"Sickens you? Truly? Those lessons are my most treasured memories. I was your equal. You respected me. You knew I would not break when pushed; you knew I could take care of myself. I learned to love you for that, Guy, and all you can tell me is that it sickens you? I can not stand this. Ever since we left Rotherham you have treated me as if I was as fragile as an eggshell. You have coddled me. I thought you understood that I could be hurt, but I could fight back. I let it go because I...I knew you were happy...having someone to care for. But you cannot keep me shielded from everything!"

"You're my wife," Guy said, shocked at her words. "If I don't protect you..."

"I will! I will protect myself. And Guy I want to protect you as well. You will not let me. You are so afraid I will break, or I will be hurt. You have begun to hold me not for the want of it, but for the fact that you can not let go. I will not break. If I get hurt you are not to blame, I am. I am not Marian, Guy, I will not leave you...at least, God be good, not for a very long time. Now," she raised her arms again, "shall we begin the lesson?"

"No. I will not hurt you, I-" Shy cut Guy's refusal off with a light punch to his shoulder. Guy merely brushed at the offended area but remained still. "Shy, please..." a kick this time, as she overbalanced him and fell.

"Come now, I've embarrassed you; you must retaliate," Shy said, standing over him.

Guy sprang to his feet, hoping to end this folly once and for all. He reached for her to block her blows, twisting her body away so that he might topple her over, but Shy danced out of his grip and landed him another punch to his stomach. Guy was surprised at that. With a greater effort he blocked her onslaught and knocked her off her feet. Shy merely rolled to one side as she had been taught and pushed herself upright again. There was a flush to her cheek and it was clear she was finding ways to work out her own frustration and anger with him in this fight. When Guy struck her it was no more than a half-hearted shove backwards. Shy frowned and punched him, harder this time, showing him she meant to give him a proper lesson.

Feeling his temper rise at her goading, Guy tangled her right leg with his own and kicked it out from under her, causing Shy to land on her back with a _whump_ of air expelling from her lungs. She was slower to get to her feet and this time she kicked back. Guy punched at her head, but Shy blocked it. Guy twisted her arm away and jabbed her in the side. Shy absorbed the blow with a wince and unbalanced Guy again. Guy remained on the ground for a moment, staring up at his wife who was grinning at him lopsidedly. He kicked out at her legs and sent her tumbling over herself, landing face-first onto the grass.

Shy rolled over onto her back, lying side by side with Guy. She was laughing as she rolled over. There was a small scratch on her cheek and her knuckles were raw as well. Guy touched the cut on her face. "You're bleeding," he said.

She looked over at him, "Same as you," she remarked, and rolled closer towards him to kiss away the droplets of blood forming on a cut just above his eyebrow. "There." She rubbed away a few dirt marks from his face.

"You...you still never learned how to keep your guard up," Guy managed to whisper before a thin smirk broke upon his face. Shy practically beamed at him at those words and Guy felt a flicker of pride. He had forgotten her ferocity and her hunger to learn how to defend herself.

"And you _still_ let me win," Shy said, kicking out at him, but making no contact.

She had that feral look about her, the same look she had when they had left London. The way she had bounded and rolled about in the fresh green beside the highways, or in the way she had scampered up trees like an overgrown squirrel and tried to leap from branch to branch, sometimes failing and coming to fall ungainly on the ground, but determined to keep trying until every inch of her was cut, dusted and matted with leaves and twigs. Guy raised a hand to pluck dried leaves and stray twigs from Shy's black hair. He went about it silently, but he could feel her questioning eyes upon him as he leaned over her.

"I had a dream once...a long while ago, we were still in Warwick," Shy whispered. "I dreamed a woman came to us upon the highway and she was named Marian. She said she was tired. She looked like she had come a long way. I knew who she was. I brought her to you and you...forgot me when you saw Marian's face. Only I didn't feel angry, or bitter. I can't remember clearly, but I felt almost joyful. Because I had never seen you so...I had never seen...anyway...I went off down one path and you and Marian went another and then I awoke, and even after waking I didn't feel a thing."

"Shy...it was just a dream."

"But I know what it means now. I truly do. I'd trade my life for Marian's in an instant if it meant you could see her again. I know you love her more than me."

Guy looked so utterly miserable at his own inability to say anything after that that Shy could not help but curl up against him. She wrapped an arm about his waist. "But, hush, all is well. Marian and I have an understanding of our own."

"An understanding?" He must have sounded like a fool.

"Yes, when you were feverish you called for her. I don't know if it was my own panic or my own fever, but I _felt_ someone in that room...just waiting. I told Marian to leave you with me for now. She could have you in Heaven, but she must wait. I feel I've made a good bargain. A life with you is everything I wanted anyway. I couldn't be greedy and ask for an eternity in the next life as well," she managed a small, unconvincing laugh. "Maybe I am learning selflessness after all."

Shy closed her eyes as Guy's fingers moved from her hair to her face. He touched her lightly, skimming down to the base of her throat before sliding back up again. It left her with a warm feeling in the heart of her, even if he could say nothing at first in reply. "Siân, I do love you," he said at last.

At the sound of her true name, Shy opened her eyes. "You think I doubt that? It is not a question of if you love me or not, Guy."

"I do not believe you when you tell me you feel nothing."

The calm smile on Shy's face vanished. "Can you just accept my words? I'm not lying."

"There is lying and then there is concealing."

Shy felt her carefully constructed words unraveling as Guy looked down at her. It was why she did not want to look at him, why she could not bear to. She rolled away from him, the grass suddenly a more suitable resting place than the space against her husband. She plucked at a few strands of grass. "Marian..." she said quietly, "seems to me a good woman. Selfless, brave, clever...cleverer than me? Ever since we came to Nottingham I feel as if I have been playing a part that is not _me. _I mean...what possessed me to agree to spy in Foster's keep? What...what did I care for a handful of peasants I never met before in my life? I think a part of me believed it was something Marian might do, might approve of...I thought you would see that in me...and love me...more."

She could feel Guy's hand upon her back, moving in small circles of comfort, or what he could best offer as comfort. Shy did not know whether she should laugh or cry at her husband's awkward way of soothing her. Lord, knew he was not the best at such things, nor was she, though. The pressure against her was light, and frequently fleeting as Guy kept finding ways to rearrange his position, as if by moving his touch one way over another he might comfort her better. Still he could not speak, or would not.

"All I want is to bring you some amount of contentment, but it seems I am only ever capable of hurting you more." This was the truth, Shy could feel it in the way the words lodged in her throat and struggled to be spoken. She could see Guy crying again in her mind's eye and was scared to turn around, worried she would see such a look in his eyes. When she rolled over to face him she was startled to discover he was blurry in her vision. She blinked and a single tear rolled down from the corner of her eye. The world cleared before her, but no more tears would come.

"Is that why you never pull your punches?" Guy asked, tapping a bruise forming on his cheek.

Shy felt the skin along the bridge of her nose pull together as she crinkled her eyes at him in a quizzical stare. Perhaps it was in the monotone way he had spoken, but something inside of her seemed to break down and she found herself shaking in laughter and tears. She was hauled off of the grass and situated in Guy's lap, her head upon his shoulder. She sighed as the jumble of emotions left her. "I never meant to frighten you in such a way, for that I am more sorry than you could know. I will never give you cause to feel such a way again, I promise."

Guy gave her a light jab in the stomach. "Don't make me promises you won't keep," he warned in as playful a tone as he could manage, which, if Shy did not know him better, would have sounded much like his usual threats. "It is starting to get cold, we should go back inside."

"No," Shy said, stiffening in his arms to prevent him from getting to his feet. "I can't go in there. I can't..." what did she say? That she still couldn't bear facing the looks of disappointment and anger from her friends? "I'd like to stay outside, just a while longer. Will you stay with me? Just for a while."

Guy was tracing patterns along the red cut above her eyebrow. "Very well." He leaned down and kissed the mark. "And I was wrong to treat you so...delicately. I know you are made of stronger stuff, but I will _never_ be made to feel shame for wanting to protect you. You confuse strength with isolation. You do not have to fight all your battles alone."

"Takes getting used to—even now—having someone willing to fight for you," Shy nuzzled against him.

"I know. But I have learned that it is not a weakness to want...to want that companionship. I think it might be a strength, not a weakness." His voice was getting softer now, as it tended to do when he was particularly uneasy about speaking his more private thoughts aloud.

"Marian teach you that?"

"Yes. And you, I like to think."

"Really?"

"Really," Guy kissed her. "So I do not need you to be Marian for me," his voice was no louder than a whisper now. His forehead was pressed to hers, eyes closed. "I need you just to be Siân, my wife...for better or worse."

Shy let out a sharp exhale of a laugh, kissing her husband's smirking lips. "That I can do, my love, that I certainly can do."

* * *

**A/N: Brief disclaimer, I in no way condone domestic abuse, or men beating women...but as a former student of martial arts I am also very much a supporter of a fair fight no matter the genders involved. This does tend to feature in other forms of my work and I am sensitive to the fact that some people don't like the idea of a man hitting a woman in any capacity. I hope the brief fight scenes that have occurred between Shy and Guy in this chapter and in previous ones haven't given offense. They are not meant to. **

**:) So now I really do mean that I'm wrapping this story up. One more chapter and an epilogue to go!  
**


	47. Forward

XLVII

Forward

"You're staying?"

"Can't very well leave Nottingham now, can I? There's been enough chaos as it is, if my gang and I were to up and leave, even for a few days, the place would go to ruin."

Guy and Archer were at a crossroads with one another. They had spent the early half of the morning seeing to the re-organization of the previous day's packing efforts and were only now breaking their fast. Archer had found it best to come right out with the news. He had been expecting his brother's displeasure, although there was very little his brother was keen to be pleased with when it came to his younger half-brother. Archer was kept on tenterhooks as he watched as Guy swallowed both an apple slice and the aggravating news.

"Fine," he said at last with a shrug.

"Is that all you have to say?" He had been expecting a veritable battle to unfold on the dining table.

"Makes reasonable sense why you should stay in Nottingham. It will take time for Prince John to reorganize after losing both Isabella and Foster, the people will need a leader to keep them in line, prevent disorder," Guy cut another slice off of the apple, "and you, with your bleeding noble heart, will probably make a wreck of whatever is left of the treasury ensuring the poor are well fed."

"I'm pleased you approve. As for the matter of the treasury, I hear you are to be made a lord of some pleasant little estate in Warwick...perhaps you'd like to make a small contribution of your own for-"

"Speak to me again of that nonsense and I'll find a better use for this knife than slicing apples," Guy growled as he twirled the knife in question around his fingers with an expert flourish.

Archer laughed, "You'll make your way back to Nottingham to see your brother from time to time, of course?"

"Associating with an outlaw is not one of my bigger plans at the moment."

"Lest you forget, you are still an outlaw yourself."

"A detail to be remedied."

"By scaring the life out of the Prince, you mean?"

A most wicked grin enveloped Guy's face that told Archer all he needed to know about how much Guy was looking forward to Prince John's reaction to his miraculous return from the dead.

"When King Richard returns do you think there'll be a pardon in store for me as well?" Archer mused as he leaned back in his chair, boots perched on the edge of the table.

"Doubtful," Guy remarked in a most somber tone, "I'll speak against it."

It took Archer a moment to realize Guy had only been joking. His brother's jokes were damnably hard to decipher at times. When he figured out his meaning, Archer smirked, "I'm rethinking the voluntary nature of that contribution of yours to the poor, Guy."

"Is he giving you a hard time, Archer?" Shy said as she strode into the dining hall with a pack slung over her shoulders. Her black hair was up in a high braid she had tied off with a bit of undyed string. "You pay him no heed. Just came to let you two layabouts know that Gavin says we're to leave in the hour, so you best get yourselves ready."

"We'll meet you in the stable yard," Archer said.

"Talking about the desolate poor of Nottingham again?" Shy teased with a wink in Archer's direction.

"Nothing worth noting," Guy said in a bored drawl, cutting into the apple with a lazy stab.

"All right, keep your secrets," Shy mocked the two as she gave Guy a kiss on the cheek, while plucking the apple slice from off of the knife blade.

"Thief," Guy muttered, nudging his shoulder against her.

Shy stuck the slice between her teeth with a childish sense of triumph. Chomping down on her stolen fruit she remarked, "Contribution to the poor, my dear."

Archer was doubled up around the corner of the table laughing while Shy waved off at them as she turned from the room, hoisting her pack further up her shoulder. "Don't be late."

Archer caught Guy staring fondly off at Shy's retreating form and he cleared his throat abruptly. Guy turned back around only to find himself staring at the same insufferable grin on Archer's face that reminded him so much of Robin's own smug, self-satisfied smiles. "How many nephews and nieces should I be expecting?"

Guy nearly choked. "You," he coughed, "are not allowed anywhere near my children."

"Afraid I'll prove too good an influence on them?" Archer laughed.

"A better one than I would."

Archer ceased his laughter. Guy became engrossed by a notch on his knife blade and scratched at it with an intent concentration, his eyes never once leaving the blade.

"You don't really think that, Guy?" Archer asked. "Guy?"

"Best not keep Sir Gavin and the others waiting," he said as he pushed his chair back and rose to his feet. He threw the kitchen knife onto the table. The knife barely had time to skid onto the center of the table before Guy had left the hall.

The grounds themselves proved a hive of activity. The only two not contributing were Isabella and Foster. They're wrists were shackled and Little John was leading them by a length of chain over to a pair of horses, where they would each walk behind their respected guard. Isabella seemed disheveled yet wary. Her anger of a more silent nature. She stumbled awkwardly as she walked, but she stared straight ahead as she was led across the grounds. Shy watched her as she strung up her saddle bags to her horse. She was surprised to find that there was still a drop of pity clenching in her gut. The woman looked mad in all but her eyes, which were as clear and as sharp as ever. Isabella glanced over at her and Shy found herself averting her gaze first. Feeling her innards twist in a mixture of empathy and wrath.

The second prisoner took his capture with less grace. He was determined to give Little John as hard a time as he could. Lord Foster had always been a proud man. He strained in his shackles, swearing and twisting like an eel on a hook. For a man who usually kept himself well groomed, there was nearly two week's worth of unkempt stubble on his chin and neck. His hair was matted and his clothes were dusty and covered with straws of hay from where he had been chained up in the stables. Yet his anger was still as fierce a thing as ever.

Shy moved to go back to the manor when she heard Foster curse at her in a fumbling tongue. Even those clumsy swears were enough to make her freeze. John tried to lead Foster away, but the stubborn man tugged in his bonds, refusing to move.

"When this jest of a kidnapping and fool's trial is over and done with and I am restored to Rotherham, do you truly think I won't find you?" He spat at her. "Do you think you're the only serving wench who's been had by her master? Little bitch, little ungrateful bitch."

The man had strained so close to her Shy felt the hair on her skin stand on end at the feel of his breath. She eased her body back and swung out with her right hand, landing a punch to the side of Lord Foster's head. Foster went down in a tangle of chain and his curses doubled as he writhed on the floor like an insect flipped on its back, his legs spasming and his arms caught up in the chain, unable to flip himself back over and crawl back upright. Shy stood over him, shaking and breathing hard. Her fist was still curled up tight, feeling as swollen as a boulder and about as heavy. She stared down at Foster, unable to look away from the sight. "Get him up and chain him to the horse," Shy said with breathless contempt to Little John.

"In a moment," John said, "This, I like." He smiled as he continued to watch Foster writhe, spit, and curse.

Shy found herself capable of turning away at last. She strode back to the manor, resisting the urge to place her hands over her ears to block out the sounds of Foster cursing her. It was hard to run without drawing attention to herself, so she forced herself to keep the pace of her slow walk. Her knuckles were still tingling with the after-shock of her punch.

Her dagger was sitting on the mantel, where she had left it. The coolness of the leather scabbard and straps felt good against her skin as she strapped it to her arm. Her fingers toyed with it still as she lowered her sleeve, the reassurance of the now familiar weapon proving more of a comfort than she had anticipated. She exhaled, listening to the sound of Archer's voice in the other room. She frowned when she heard that the voice of his companion was no longer Guy's, but a woman's.

Fiddling with the dagger straps, Shy prowled along the hall, taken like a cat with its curiosity. She remained by the door leading into the small study. She pressed herself to the crack along the doorway, squinting to try and see inside.

"You will miss me when you've gone from Nottingham," Archer said in his smug fashion.

"Did you drag me in here to taunt me or to speak plainly with me, outlaw?"

Shy's eyes widened as she recognized the voice of Lady Thea beyond the door.

"Can't I do both?"

"In a moment you'll be doing none."

"No, stay...stay. I admit, I like to taunt you. You are frighteningly beautiful when you blush."

"Do you take me for some tavern wench that I should be flattered by your empty words?" Lady Thea snapped, and Shy could see the swish of her green dress from the crack in the door.

"I've had tavern wenches, you're no where near as buxom."

"I ought to have your _tongue_ out for that-"

"Then why don't you?" Better still, if I have offended you why don't you leave?"

There was a silence from the lady that felt chilled even from behind the door where Shy stood listening. "My lady Thea," Archer began with a sigh, his voice taking on a most contrite tone, "I am no one of importance that you must conduct yourself as if there was someone to judge you. There are no eyes watching us now, I believe."

Shy blushed.

"For a married woman there are eyes everywhere."

"Your lord husband is very likely to be thrown into a cell for the rest of his life, if he is not hanged, of course, you are hardly a married woman any longer."

"Then, Archer, I have no intention of remarrying, or seeking out the favors of other men."

"Favors? Favors? Have I asked for a token of yours, my lady? And I abhor the idea of marriage, I'm glad we are in agreement on that."

"Then...then, Archer I fail to understand."

"Allow me to help you comprehend..."

Shy jerked back away from the door as she saw Archer approach Lady Thea. Even through the thin crack in the doorway she could still see when their lips met. Lady Thea shoved Archer away. "No..."

"My lady, I am no Lord Foster, if that...if that is what you are fearing, then-"

"I am barren," Lady Thea snapped, "less than useless as a woman. If I had not been so cursed perhaps then my husband would not have had such a need to terrorize others. Excuse me, Archer, I must take my leave."

"Lady Thea!" Archer called out as Thea opened the door. Shy had just enough time to spring away and make herself look perfectly busy elsewhere in the hall as Lady Thea stormed out. "Lady Thea, wait!"

Shy placed a hand upon Archer's arm, preventing him from giving chase. "Let me speak with her."

"So, there were eyes on us after all? She will not soon let me forget she was right all along." Archer shrugged free of Shy's light grip and gave her leave to go after her friend.

Half dazed by the nature of the conversation she had overheard, Shy found herself wandering through the halls of the manor without a clue as to where Lady Thea might have carried herself off. She returned to the stable yard in hopes of getting her bearings, when she spotted Lady Thea saddling up her own horse.

"My lady," Shy said rather meekly as she approached the woman.

Lady Thea raised her head and smiled at Shy. "Ready to depart? I hear you've been the one herding everyone out onto the yard."

"That was Sir Gavin's little task for me. He has kept me on my toes all morning. I think he is still punishing me for my folly yesterday."

"How I'd love to do the same, but," Lady Thea sighed, "nothing I could come up with would ever be half so bad as the guilt you will make for yourself."

Again, Shy saw Guy's stricken face and she winced in memory. "Too true. My lady, I saw you leaving from a meeting with Archer not a moment ago, may I ask what it was about?"

"You may not," Lady Thea said, tightening one of the saddle straps.

"Oh...Archer is a good man, isn't he, my lady? I'm looking forward to counting him as a brother."

"He's suitable as far as most men are concerned," Lady Thea grunted, buckling and unbuckling the same strap until her horse gave a neigh of annoyance at the tightness of the saddle.

"Certainly unafraid of you," Shy wheedled. "I've seen the way he goads you on."

"Brave or stupid, they are quite similar traits."

"I also have seen, my lady, that he is fond of you and, if I may say...I think you are as well."

"Oh, Shy, I saw you milling about in the hall when I left, why don't you confess that you overheard Archer and me? Lady Thea dropped the pretension of dealing with the saddle.

Shy looked down at her feet, feeling very much like a child again, as she always did when confronted directly by the lady. "I did not listen on purpose, I promise you that. But, my lady, I could not help but hear and think you are making a mistake."

Lady Thea snorted, "A mistake, indeed. That man is a rogue and an outlaw, and any woman would do well to stay far away from the likes of him."

"But he is clever and kind-hearted, too."

"And I am to be taken in blindly by all the good-natured wolves, is that it?"

"No. You are to do as you will, but only if that is truly what you want. And, my lady, I can't help but see you are punishing yourself."

"Shy-"

"My lady, let me speak. I was brought to Rotherham before you were married to Lord Foster, well before. You know that. What you do not know...what I never rightly told you, was that by the time I met you I had started to forget what my own family once was. I knew I had a father, but I could not recall his face. I have never known my mother, but when I think of what she must look like all I can see is your own face. You could not prevent what was done to me anymore than I could have protected you from your own husband. You must not blame yourself, I could not stand that. All you have wanted for me was the hope I might free myself, I have. Now I must see that you are freed as well. My lady," Shy took Lady Thea's hand, "no daughter ever loved a mother as I love you."

"My dear," Lady Thea said doing well to keep the warble from her voice as she stroked Shy's hand, "you have such a sweetness to you when you will it," she laughed.

The two moved to embrace one another when they were interrupted by Sir Gavin. He nodded courteously to the women before informing them it was time to move out.

"Be assured, this conversation is far from over, my lady," Shy said with a conspiratorial wink.

"Oh, indeed?" Lady Thea was amused at Shy's feigned insolence. Before Shy could leave her, Lady Thea held her arm. "All that I desire now is the chance to live my own life as I see fit," she whispered to her younger charge. "Archer is a good man, Heaven knows, but if he should be mine? Well...a decision that will need much deliberation and time." She kissed Shy's forehead. "The concern is sweet, Shy, and so are your words. I am blessed enough, I think."

Feeling a great deal better over the state of her friend, Shy allowed herself to take her leave. Across the stable yard, Guy was mounting his horse and Shy hurried over to him. He gave her one of his pleased smirks and held out a hand to help her up. Shy swung herself up astride the horse, fitting her arms about Guy's waist for support.

"I saw Foster sporting a newly blackened eye," Guy remarked. "Would you know anything of this?"

Shy said nothing her former light-hearted mood evaporating. She felt a tingling in the knuckles of her hand where she had struck Foster and tried to summon the right amount of satisfaction, some sign of placated revenge. It was not to be found. There was only the chilling hatred in her breast and the dark fear that ran through her like a fine crack in her skin whenever she thought of that man. If she could she would beat Foster until he was no more than some bleeding slab of meat, putrid and unrecognizable and even then it would not be enough.

Guy placed a hand over Shy's own. "Forgive me," he muttered in his usual halting way whenever he spoke out of turn, "I shouldn't have mentioned it." He spurred the horse into a light trot as the troop began the march out of Locksley.

"Will you miss Nottingham?" Shy said in an attempt to change the subject, turning her head so that she might look out at the forest.

"No." Guy's gloves made his movements clumsier than usual as he stroked Shy's wrist. "And if God is good, which he seldom is with me, I will never see this place again."

Shy did not laugh. She watched as the trees passed her line of vision in a silent procession of gold, red, yellow, and green.

"There is something you are not telling me," Guy said.

"He said he would find me—Foster—after this trial..."

"And this frightened you?"

"Not at all. It angered me. I had thought I was past all that, or rather, I hoped. I want so badly to forget, and just to live. Will it never be better for me, Guy?" Shy asked, her throat going dry. She licked lips that felt cracked.

"Do you want me to answer as your friend or husband?" Guy offered after a silence.

"Can it not be both?"

"Very well. You won't forget. There will be days memories overwhelm you, but you must remember they won't last. And you will have me. You might never be better, neither will I. Maybe we can make hell a little more bearable together, though."

Shy felt an ounce of laughter escape her at Guy's stilted, hesitantly placed words. She felt the melancholy veil slip from about her. "That was just what I needed to hear."

"It was?"

"Yes." Shy closed her eyes and breathed in deep the clean scent of the woodland around her. The images of Foster's hateful, menacing face were still clear in her mind. She pushed at them and managed to nudge them aside for now, along with the welling black hatred and old fears. Guy was right. They would never vanish, but for now she could not let these haunts rule her. "Now," she said with a burst of a sigh, opening her storm-bright eyes, "tell me about this new home of ours."

* * *

Three months was a long time to go with hardly a letter or message from her husband or any of her friends. Shy walked along the outskirts of the small wooded glen, the furthest she could get from Careswich and the handmaid that deemed it necessary to follow her practically everywhere. Shy placed a hand over her rounded belly. Five months along. The furthest she had ever managed to grow. Lady Adela had thought it a wise idea to have a handmaid to help care for Shy, the baby, and to assist with the goings on around the manor. Before Guy left for London, he had finally agreed to Lady Adela's scheme, going directly over Shy's protests that she would be quite capable of looking after herself. Of course, then she had not thought of how long Guy would be gone. The maid was a useful, sweet girl. A touch too sweet for Shy's tastes. Shy kicked up a few fallen leaves. Sometimes it was necessary for her to be left alone, a concept the maid did not grasp. The wood was solace enough, or it used to be. Three months of separation without word was a long time. Too long.

Shy had wanted to go with Guy and the others to London, but that was before she learned she was with child. It didn't matter what she insisted upon then, she was not to leave Careswich. The journey would be too strenuous on her. Foster's trial could prove too much of an upset, not to mention what other obstacles might be in store once Guy presented himself at court. The worse decision Shy had ever made was conceding to stay behind. However healthy she and the child were did not make up for the sheer amount of worry she was currently undergoing. And worry had turned to rapid frustration after the first month. She spent more time out of the manor then she did resting as she had been instructed to.

There were the odd messages now and again from Guy, but most were proxy notes from Brennan, and even then her old friend told her the barest of information until one day she received a curt note informing her of King Richard's return. That was the best of news, for it surely meant that Guy would be returning home soon and she would have word of Foster and Isabella's conviction. None came, instead Shy received a missive stating that Guy was still needed at court. There was no word as to what fortune had befallen Lord Foster and Isabella. Shy's frustrations reached a boiling point. Some of the younger servants still scurried out of sight whenever Shy came into a room. Poor things, Shy thought, taking her ease atop a fallen log, they were only young village girls. Was she really so frightening when her temper was up? Shy winced, feeling the baby move.

"Impatient as well?" She placed a hand over her belly receiving another tap in vague response.

When the baby had first started to move, Shy had panicked, thinking there was something wrong. It took Lady Adela nearly a whole day to convince Shy otherwise. In truth, Shy had not needed the entire day to be convinced she was well. She needed the day to vent her anger over the fact that Guy was not there with her. Shy sighed, rubbing the swell of her stomach until the baby ceased its restless movements. Shy wondered where her husband was at this moment, and prayed it would not be another long month of waiting.

* * *

The tops of Warwick's gates appeared over the low rise of the hillside. The small brigade sped up as they rode down the green-covered slope. Two knights led the way. Sir Gavin looked weary from his travels and long separation from his home. His hair was in slight disarray from days spent being buffeted about by the wind. His companion looked the worse for wear. Sir Guy had the haunted visage of a man who had not seen the sun in many a long while, and the darkened eyes of someone who had not slept in nearly as long. Despite this, once Warwick came into view a restless energy seemed to overtake him. The change did not go unnoticed by Gavin.

"We will have to make our reports to Lord Waleran immediately, I daresay, before we're allowed out of the city." Gavin looked to his friend who was glaring at him with an unappreciative look.

"Think I had forgotten about that?" Guy said, his voice emerging like the growling snap of an angered dog.

"Your frustration, while understandable, is being taken out on the wrong person, wouldn't you agree?" Gavin drawled, unhurt at the temper of his companion and knowing the best way to diffuse the situation was to brush it aside with his usual good humor and patience.

Guy had already dropped his accusing gaze with a sigh and a shake of his head. "Forgive me," he said grudgingly. "It has been a long three months."

"And I am as eager as any to get down from this blasted horse and off of this cursed road once and for all." Gavin tried to straighten himself up, straining tightened muscles in an attempt to ease the iron-like knots in his neck and shoulders. He flashed a weary smile at Guy. "Wager Adela's worn the stone from the very floor with her worrying. Hah, she's probably sewn enough quilts to cover the entire Castle top to bottom."

"I wouldn't know what your wife does to occupy her time." Guy said curtly. He winced once the words left his mouth. "Sorry," he added as an afterthought.

"Have you written to Shy? Told her of your coming? My guess is we'll be traveling before the message arrives..."

"No," Guy shook his head. "I haven't written."

"My God, man, she'll have your head for that!"

"And how was I supposed to tell her everything that had happened in a simple letter?" Guy fired back. "All it would have done was cause panic. Better she hear it all from me now."

"It will be such a shame to have you survive all this time only for you to die at the hands of your own wife."

"Is that all you can do, joke?" Guy spurred his horse into a faster trot as the company passed through the city gates.

"You know I only joke at the end of all crises, and believe me, Gisborne, this is a crisis that is nearing its end," Gavin said with a helpful smile. "It could have been far worse. I could have been riding back to deliver your corpse. There were days I truly thought would be your execution date. Don't think I was joking then."

A shadow still clouded Guy's expression. It broke apart momentarily at a tentative smirk from Guy. "She probably will have my head on a spike for deceiving her."

Gavin laughed in spite of the dark situation they were still in. "And just think, it'll save you from having to make another trip to London..."

Guy allowed Gavin to continue with his slight jokes as they made their way up to the castle. Yet even as his annoyance cooled nothing would still the doubts still racing through his mind. He was lucky to have returned to Warwick, more lucky than Gavin could even guess at. Everyday he was summoned from his cell he had doubted if he was going to the king's council rooms, or the king's executioner. While he had tried to keep his strength up during his months as a prisoner, he knew there would be no fooling his wife. Guy grimaced. How was he going to sum up the events of the past three months? It was fortunate then, that he was going to be most practiced in telling his story after he briefed Lord Waleran of all that had passed.

* * *

Evening had already fallen by the time Guy came riding into Careswich. From down the road the estate seemed an isolated paradise. The breeze had begun to pick up and was rustling the leaves in the orchard. Guy had not been long in his own lands to have truly felt comfortable here, but riding up to it now after many months the manor seemed the image of home, an image he thought would never be realized. Shy would no doubt be indoors by now and she would be far from expecting his arrival. The thought of surprising her, even incurring her wrath, was enough to grant a certain lightness to him. He spurred his horse to a gallop and took the road with a furious speed.

As Guy neared the manor-house the picture of domestic tranquility was shattered. A maidservant was combing the grounds, hand cupped over her mouth as she shouted for her mistress. A few of the other servants were wandering about as well in consternation and more than a little worry. When the servants caught sight of their master returning the grounds seethed with chaos as everyone grappled for a position that would downplay the tension.

Guy slowed his horse to a halt as the few servants outside dipped their heads respectfully. Although Guy did not miss how two serving girls wrung nervous hands and exchanged desperate glances. A young man stepped forward to accept the horse's reins as Guy dismounted. One maidservant, the one Guy recognized as being Shy's personal servant, stepped forward. "Good evening, my lord," she said in a high nervous voice. "We...we had not expected your arrival. Or I...I assure my lord that we-"

Guy held a hand up to spare the servant's excuses. "What's going on here?" He asked with a tired and gruff voice. If he expected a clear answer he was mistaken for this sent the poor girl into a bout of dithering and nearly inaudible stuttering. Guy glowered, crossing his arms in displeasure, glad to see such a look still caused fright. "Speak up," he ordered with a low snap that gave him the desired reaction.

The girl stood up straighter with a jolt. "We're looking for the Lady Siân, my lord," she said miserably. "She went out for a walk early this afternoon and...and she hasn't come back m-m-my lord." The girl's voice faded out entirely as Guy's look took a dark turn.

"And have you searched the grounds?" He asked barely able to keep his voice level at this news.

"Yes, my lord," the girl bobbed her head. "She hasn't been seen in the orchard, the gardens, or the meadow, my thought she might have gone into the village, my lord. She likes to..." she shook her head. "Nevermind. Not my place to say, my lord."

"What? 'She likes to...' what?"

"Sometimes, my lord, she likes giving us the slip as it were, my lord. She...she likes hiding. This isn't the first time we've nearly sent a search party out."

Guy astonished all by nearly breaking form with a barking laugh. He coughed to cover himself and replaced his slightly annoyed, bemused look with another glare. "Well, have you checked the woods?"

"The...woods, my lord?"

Guy could not tell if the girl's blank look was one of sheer ignorance or mere forgetfulness from having been flustered by his unanticipated return. The servant fumbled about for a proper response, as if sensing how foolish she must appear to her master. Luck, more than anything, spared her from having to make a formal reply for Shy appeared traipsing down the path leading off towards the meadows and the woodland on the fringe. She looked pleased with both herself and the turn out as she neared. She called out to the gathering in her raspy blunt voice,

"Sending the search parties out a touch early, Rose. I swore I was only asleep for a moment." If the servants did not believe Shy's words one look at her tangled, loosely braided hair and rumbled clothing convinced them.

"And it seems we are entertaining guests," She added, brushing her hands down the front of her dress. The smile on her face quickly vanished as she came closer to the guest in question. The shock was immediate and Shy found herself neatly frozen in place. The look on her face one of contained rage and restrained delight. The shifting clouds in her eyes did not go unnoticed by her husband. Guy smirked roguishly at her and swore he saw a thunderous scowl meet him in reply.

"Leave us," Shy said tersely to the servants present.

"But, my lady," The maidservant, Rose, protested.

"Do as your Lady commands," Guy said.

Knowing better than to further intrude, Rose gave a tired bow and led the other servants, grumbling, back inside the manor-house. Even after the servants had all gone, Shy still remained solid as stone. The only lively thing about her was the calculating look in her eyes.

"Is this how you choose to greet me, Shy?" Guy asked her, shrugging his arms.

"I am merely debating on whether or not I should break your neck," Shy retorted. "No word. Not a single letter in three whole months that told me any news whatsoever and now you turn up without warning looking..." Shy paused, her tirade only just warming up, when she noticed what was off about Guy's appearance, "looking terrible actually. What happened to you?"

"A long story," Guy said, having enough of Shy's obstinance. He pulled her into an enthusiastic embrace. "Too long for a letter."

"One you intend to tell me in full tonight?" Shy asked, although it was more of a demand. She pressed her lips to Guy's in a surprisingly tender kiss. A smile played around her features. "Come inside," she gave his arm a swift tug.

Guy allowed himself to be led indoors. There was a sudden flurry of activity from the servants as they entered the manor and Guy had no doubt that they had been spied upon. Shy spoke to one of the young men about supper being served in the solar. Guy was glad of that. They were sure to be alone there, and he did not want to relay his news to her when there may be other ears sneaking for a listen down the hall. Before Shy could dismiss the servants with a word, they left as soon as she turned her gaze to them. It wasn't until after they had all departed that Shy flushed a dark pink.

"I think most of them are quite frightened of me. I haven't been the most amiable of mistresses these past months," she bit her lip.

"I wouldn't concern yourself with it. You're their master not their friend," Guy shrugged and received a small shove for his comments.

"And how did I know you would say such a thing?" Shy chided as she led Guy into the solar and shut the door. "Still, I don't like frightening anyone. Especially those younger girls. It isn't right. It's not fair."

As Shy took her ease in one of the chairs by the fire, Guy was reminded that she was not born into the role of the nobility as he was. She must look at the servants and see more of herself in them then she ever would as mistress of an estate. She appeared solemn and petulant in the wooden-backed chair, her sharp features off-set by the dull glow of the small fire. Guy bent down and kissed the side of her head causing Shy to break from her brooding to utter a pleased little laugh. "They'll learn not to fear you in time," he told her as he went to bring a second chair over so that he could sit closer to her.

Shy merely grunted an assent and Guy could tell she was already sweeping aside her thoughts on that subject in favor of raising a new topic. "So, now you will tell me everything that went on in London. And you will start by telling me of Foster's trial? Is he still alive? Imprisoned? Dead?"

"Foster is dead," Guy said bluntly. "He was tried and hanged shortly after King Richard's arrival." He noticed Shy was looking glossy eyed and rigid in her seat. "You'll forgive me for not writing to you of the execution. I...I thought it would be better if you heard it directly from me..." He had thought that would have been a better course of action, but seeing how the news shocked Shy, Guy was suddenly rethinking his former plan.

"He is dead?" Shy sounded unsure. "You saw him die?"

Guy nodded, "I was permitted to watch the execution. I saw his body cut down from the gallows myself." He watched as a shudder passed through Shy and he instinctively reached out a hand for hers.

Shy batted him away while giving herself a slight shake. She raised her arms. "I'm fine," she said defensively. "So he is dead. That is that." She spat into the fire. "May he burn in Hell." For all of Shy's flippant airs this last sentence was said with a crack of malicious enjoyment. She stared hard at the flames in the hearth for a time, knuckles pressed against her mouth to stop her hands from shaking. Guy knew better than to go on with his story until Shy was good and ready to hear him.

At last she turned back to him, an eyebrow raised in question. "You said 'permitted.' You had been permitted to see the execution. Why would you need permission, Guy? Surely you would be as allowed as any man to witness a public hanging?"

Guy tried to prevent a shameful tone to his voice as he explained, but he found that impossible under the careful scrutiny of his wife's eyes. "I was not as...free as most men, Shy."

"I don't like riddles, Guy. And I don't like being kept in the dark for _three whole months_."

"It was initially Prince John who had me arrested," Guy stated, not knowing a better way to begin then by jumping right into the matter. "If I did not have the backing of Lord Waleran I might never have received any chance of any audience with the Prince again. We did not have long to find out what the Prince would do, though, as King Richard returned nearly a month later. He received me only in order to...arrest me yet again."

Shy stopped him, "You are leaving something out."

"Leave it, Shy, it came to nothing, so there's no point in exciting yourself..."

"Tell me."

Guy sighed, "I was given an execution date. Satisfied?"

Shy was immobile, but her face did not betray anything she felt. She stared at Guy coolly and calmly, fingers steepled upon her lap. Guy felt even his own anxiety over relating this story to her lessen somewhat at such a look.

"It was due to testimony from Gavin and Lady Thea that the day was constantly pushed back and back. They informed the King of Foster's involvement with Prince John and Nottingham. Isabella's imprisonment served as further proof and both Brennan and Lady Thea provided enough evidence against Foster as both a traitor and a..." he looked up at Shy, deciding against running through the list of other crimes Foster was associated with. He cleared his throat. "As I said, Foster was hanged and I was permitted to be a witness. Gavin and Lady Thea had informed the King of my own involvement with arresting Foster and Isabella and Gavin had come bearing a letter from Waleran testifying to my help in catching the Imposter. I was granted an audience. Shy, I should tell you I did not deny any of the crimes the King named against me. I still do not know what that will mean for me. For us."

Shy cocked her head to one side. "Still? Then why did the King allow you to leave?"

"I am not entirely a free man, yet. I am under a form of probation. Lord Waleran is now my keeper. I do not rightly know how Gavin and the others managed to plead for my release. Even Brennan vouched for me, I heard. What determined my actual release was you, Shy."

"Me?"

"I don't think the King truly believes you exist," Guy smirked, of course not believing that at all, but he did recall how incredulous King Richard had appeared upon hearing Shy's story told in full by Lady Thea and himself. "He ordered me to bring you to London so that you would speak on my behalf."

"Me?" Shy repeated again incredulously. "But..." her hands went around her abdomen protectively.

"After the baby is born. I said the sole reason you had not initially been brought to London with me was because you were with child. We are to return to London after the child is born. As soon as you are well enough to travel."

Shy looked blown over by this last bit of information. Guy reached for her hand and was grateful that this time she did not rebuke him. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "See why I dared not write you? I did not want you to panic. I'm sorry I kept you in the dark for so long, but I had to. And now we have some months together to think and to plan. At least now any worries or questions you have can be answered."

"What in Hell's name am I going to say to the King?" Shy blurted out with a small squeak.

Even Guy could not help the smirk which spread across his face at Shy's worried reaction. "I'd advise saying something along the lines of 'please spare my husband,' before anything."

Shy laughed and then covered her mouth with her hands, "No, that's dreadful. The King wouldn't—not after everything you've done!"

Guy merely looked at her sadly and with a little pride as Shy slammed a hand down upon the arm of the chair. "He would _not_!" She said again, as if the force of her conviction in this matter would make it so. "Besides," she said softer, perhaps worried the servants would become startled if she began shouting, "it would be unspeakably cruel to make a wife travel all those miles after just delivering a child only to watch her husband be hanged. You do not think King Richard is that cruel, do you?"

"I do not know," Guy said honestly with a shrug. "I do not know him very well at all. I know he was saddened when he heard of Robin's death. He seemed almost curious that I had a hand in killing Sheriff Vaysey. I know he wanted my blood once, but now—Gavin seems to think this is a crisis reaching its end," Guy noticed the agitated glow in Shy's eyes. To anyone else it would have appeared as a well-concealed look of restless energy, but the poor glamour did not fool Guy. "But what do you think?"

The startled glance told Guy that Shy had not been expecting such a question. "What do I think?" she repeated in measured tones. Up until that point she had vocally expressed her views, but those had not been strictly asked for. Guy found himself taking a strange pleasure in his wife's thoughtful and stunned silence. "I think that I have missed you and that I would like to put away all of these..." she raised her hands up as if to forcibly push away the past contents of their conversation, "worries and have you just to myself for tonight, if I am still allowed a moment of selfishness? I do not like dealing with these 'maybes' and faulty theories. Let us deal with the problems as they arise. I will go with you to London and speak for you. We can do no more than that."

"That is all I can ask for," Guy knew this was not likely to be the end of the matter, but it was all he could get for tonight. "And now, while the servants are still out of sight..." he leaned forward and kissed her, holding her head in his hand. Shy pressed herself as close as she could to him while still being mindful of the baby.

As their lips parted, Shy had a wicked glint in her eyes. "Shame," she said in a husky and panting whisper as she caught her breath again, "that would have given them something to gossip about."

Guy laughed softly, wanting to tell her then how much he had missed her. His hand was still against her head. He brushed back loose strands of hair and traced the line of her cheek where creases of laughter still punctuated the skin. That laughter had been sorely needed in those confined months. Shy was still smiling at him, only now in that knowing way she did when he found himself fumbling over his own thoughts and words. He kissed her again half in thanks for understanding his awkward ways and found his voice again,

"Siân?"

Shy looked at him expectantly. A warm smile still played about her face, breaking up the last of the darkening clouds in her eyes.

It was almost surprising at how easy the words came. "I'm glad to have finally come home."

* * *

**A/N: There it is at last! I'm so sorry for the long delay. Sometimes RL can be a real pain for my fic writing, but for those of you still reading than thanks for sticking with me and being so patient. The epilogue will be up either tomorrow or the following day if I get my way, but don't anticipate an overly long wait. Hope you've enjoyed this fic. I've had such fun writing it! :)  
**


	48. Epilogue

Epilogue

Lady Meghan would never understand why Careswich had thrown itself gladly into such an uproar. Everywhere she turned there was some well-wisher or new decoration being put up to adorn the churchyard. Even the city of Warwick itself seemed to be feeling the same madness. For the second time that day she said a silent prayer to God in thanks that today was not her own marriage day. She clutched the note she was holding in her hands tighter.

She walked past the long tables being set up and waved politely back at a few young girls who noticed her crossing the grounds. When they went back to talking amongst themselves, Meghan had the distinct feeling they were gossiping about her. She brushed a hand down the long, dark skirt of her dress. True, she probably did seem like a mourner looking for a funeral, but she couldn't fathom wearing any color other than black. It was only in the days leading up to her sister's wedding that she first felt she was out of place. Such a feeling would never have lasted if her brothers were still at home, but the young squires were out making their own way. Although, Meghan heard the rumor her older brother Robin might return in time for the wedding, but Robin was always making promises he never kept.

As Meghan neared the manor-house the note began to crumble and she quickly eased her fist. She would only have one chance at stating her case, if she presented an untidy message she may well be facing her own dreaded wedding day soon enough.

The sight of the old monk, Brother Tuck, taking his leave of the manor startled Meghan. Tuck was a good friend of her parents, once of Nottingham, he had joined the ranks at Stoneleigh Abbey not long after Robin was born. Father said he was inspired by the monks self-sufficiency and wanted to make the small and relatively new Abbey a prominent place of production and worship, but then Father had always said Tuck was a little radical in his ideals. Meghan gave Tuck a wave. He had always been kind to her and fueled her passion for learning when she had been a child. Tuck seemed distracted as he walked, his arms crossed into the sleeves of his long habit.

"Good morning, Brother Tuck," she said.

"What? Oh, good morning, Meg."

"And what brings you to Careswich today? Have you come to stay for Roheis' wedding?"

"I'm afraid I won't be able to. I have a matter to attend to at the abbey."

"Well, I am sorry such business has called you away when you must have only just arrived. How unfortunate." She frowned when Tuck did not seem to have any quip to combat her sarcasm. Usually the monk had a quick retort or reprimand for her when she spoke out of turn.

"Yes, it is. I am certain I will see both you and Roheis again soon though. May God bless you, my child," he said, patting her arm before walking off in a dazed, yet urgent trot.

Meghan shook her head. Perhaps Tuck was growing addled as he aged. She would ask Mother why he had come and gone so quickly. As she came into the entry hall Meghan shrugged off the light shawl she had about her shoulders. She draped it over the back of a chair and then went down the hall to the solar in search of her father.

She rapped twice upon the door before opening it a crack. "Father?" she asked, feeling her voice grow quiet. Her father was leaning against the mantel, a hand covered his face. His breath came in slow long stretches and with each exhale he seemed to shrink down under an invisible weight. "Father, are you well?" Meghan asked as she fully opened the door.

Upon hearing his daughter call him, Sir Guy of Gisborne turned about, straightening up and raising his hand to smooth back his disheveled gray-black hair. "What is it?" He asked in that strict tone that almost used to frighten Meghan as a child. Feeling as if she was caught disobeying him, she inched into the room like a mouse avoiding a sleeping cat. She curtsied awkwardly in her nervousness.

"Good morning, Father. I saw Tuck leaving the manor just now. I did not know he had come to Careswich."

Guy waved the matter away as he so often did with things he did not wish to discuss. "He came to see Roheis. She had some questions for him. Concerning the wedding."

"I see..." Now Meghan had more questions. The first being why was her father lying to her? But that would have to wait. She only had one chance to state her case. If she faltered now her father would never take her seriously. Carefully she unfolded her precious note and handed it out for Guy's inspection.

"Father this is a letter from Polesworth Abbey. From the Abbess herself, actually." She tried to stifle a nervous laugh as the importance at being written to by a Mother Abbess herself briefly overwhelmed her. "I...I wrote to them not long ago asking if...if they had room for a novice."

Guy snatched at the letter and scanned its contents. "What is this?" he growled.

"Father, please let me continue. I wrote because...because I wanted something _more_ than marriage. The Abbess believes I could be useful to her. You know how good I am with figures and she could teach me Latin and Greek." Guy was already vigorously shaking his head. Meghan felt herself rush through her carefully rehearsed speech. "Roheis is already taken care of. I'm the youngest. Surely I needn't be married as well? And Polesworth is not that far. Only half a day's ride."

"This," Guy pointed at his daughter, "is absurd. No daughter of mine is going to be carted off to a convent."

"Father, I could do so much there! I would spend my days doing something useful. And if I am diligent I could become Abbess in time," A little thrill shot through her the way it always did when she imagined herself in such a position of power. An entire abbey under her control, all the libraries, stock yards, farms and hospitals at her disposal. "In time the abbey could be mine, Father. Think of that!"

"No. You are a child. I'll not here anymore of this. You will write to the Abbess and tell her you will not waste more of her time and you will apologize for your folly." Guy turned and threw the Abbess' note into the fireplace.

Meghan let out a shrill wail as the note curled to black in the embers. She rushed to the hearth, but Guy stopped her from digging into the ashes to collect the half-burnt letter. "It isn't folly!" she whined, "It is what I want. I won't marry, Father. I don't _want_ to be a wife—sitting about and never doing anything for myself. I couldn't bear being someone's silly little wife."

"Silly and little am I?"

Meghan turned about to see her mother framed in the doorway, a knowing wink in her eyes, but an unamused frown on her lips. "No, I..I didn't mean you, Mother, of course I didn't. I was only..."

"Speaking before you could think. I know," Shy gave a small cough.

"You shouldn't be out of bed," Guy interrupted, pulling a chair close to the fireplace and directing Shy towards it.

"Not out of bed? Now that really would be silly," she winked at Meghan as Guy draped a blanket about her.

"Cough still not getting any better, Mother?" Meghan asked. Last winter her mother had fallen seriously ill. It had begun as a light persistent cough, but soon she lost her voice for a time when the fever came and even the coughing became too painful to manage. She had come out the other side of the illness, but the cough still remained a worrisome reminder that her mother was getting older and was not as spry as she once was.

"Oh, I'll shift it yet," Shy said covering her mouth as she coughed out a laugh. Guy had a hand on her shoulder and Meghan noticed that his knuckles were white with the force of the pressure he exerted on her. Shy patted his hand, "Now, what's all the shouting about?"

"Meg has written to the Abbess of Polesworth. She has decided she would like to be a nun," Guy said with aggravation.

Shy shot her daughter a questioning look, but there was no judgement behind those stormy eyes that always managed to wheedle out the truth from her children. "It's not like that," Meg muttered, reduced to a toddling child. She stated her case once more breathless and dry-mouthed. She fancied she had an imploring look on her face. Her mother's was the only opinion that counted now.

"Have you given this all due consideration, Meg?" Shy asked when her daughter had finished.

"Yes, Mother. I thought for days about even writing to the Abbess."

"Only days to plan out your entire life?" Shy tutted, "You are only fourteen-years-old, my love. There are many good years ahead of you yet. Might you decide next month you would like to live that life outside of abbey walls?"

"And never have anything that is mine? I want to work, Mother, I want to study and learn. I have ambitions..." Meghan blushed as her father scoffed at her words.

Shy pinched Guy's arm. "Well, she's certainly your daughter I'll say that much for her. But as your father is trying to say, I believe, is that there is more to life than ambition."

"Not for me," Meghan said softly.

"Then surely you can give your father and I time to discuss this matter ourselves?" Shy's response sent Meghan nodding furiously.

"Thank you, Mother!"

"Now that is a compromise. Great deal more productive than that shouting match you and..." Shy was stopped by a coughing fit that left her doubled up and gasping.

"Mother!"

Meghan rushed to her mother's side, trying to support her as her coughs choked her of breath. Shy waved her daughter and husband away as she tried to regain control of her body. As soon as the fit ceased, Shy was bundled up in Guy's arms and carried from the room. "I'm taking you back to your bed."

"Really, Guy, I can walk you know. Oh, Meg, Meg! Go check on Roheis for me. Tell her I'll be in soon." Shy coughed again.

"Yes, Mother," Meghan said in shock. Her mother looked so small against her father as he carried her through the hall. Meghan followed close behind on her way up the stairs. Maybe there was still a winter chill in the air? But the morning had been luxuriously warm and had called her out of bed so early for her walk. Her mother continued to cough, but quietly, with a hand over her mouth, almost politely. Her father and mother went off towards their bedchamber as Meghan broke to go towards her and Rhoeis' room. As soon as her father kicked shut the door, Meghan winced as she heard her mother's coughing increase in strength.

Still trying to convince herself that the coughing was only due to the remnants of winter, Meghan opened the door to her shared bedchamber. Her older sister by two years, Roheis, was sitting by her mirror. She was brushing out her long, dark hair and Meghan noticed that she was sobbing while she performed the chore.

Meghan could not help but roll her eyes. Roheis was always the sensitive one. She cried when Robin or Rodger would tease her when they were children; she cried whenever she saw a dead bird fallen from a nest; and worst of all, she used to cry when she was left alone in the dark for too long as a child. Meghan pulled out a dark blue ribbon from her drawer and stood over her sister as she tied her hair back. "What's the matter, Rosey? The beauty of the wedding starting to get to you?"

"You...be quiet," Roheis hiccuped with venom in her eyes.

Roheis had her mother's gray, wide eyes. All of Meghan's siblings had their mother's eyes, except for her. She had her father's blue eyes. Eyes, that she had heard were too harsh for a girl to have. She had the shape of his face too. People thought her a serious child. Rarely did she smile unless she truly felt happy, laughing was a harder skill. Stern, harsh, even unfeeling—these were words she heard spoken about her since she was old enough to toddle around on her own.

"Mother says she'll be in soon," Meghan said as she tied her ribbon into a neat bow.

Roheis began to sob even harder at this. She threw her brush down and placed her head upon her arms and cried loudly and violently. "Oh really, Roheis!" Meghan exclaimed, "It's not like she's neglecting you entirely! Stop sobbing, you'll ruin your dress. Must you insist on being ever the child? It is not as if Mother is going anywhere."

"No, you heartless little beast! She's dying!"

"What?"

The word emerged from Meghan as little more than whisper. She sat down with a bump at the edge of the bed directly behind her. Roheis sniffled a little before turning around in her chair. "Tuck came in the night, although you wouldn't have known, you slept through it all."

"Why...why didn't you wake me?" Meghan accused. It felt good to shout at her sister. The shrill ringing in her ears of her own voice was the only thing she could feel.

"I was going to tell this morning, but you disappeared to go traipsing through the woods," Disdain dripped heavily from Roheis' words. "Tuck said the sickness has sunk into her lungs. She could be gone before the season is out."

"No. No she was fine. She was just _fine_. It's just the chill in the air still."

"Mother didn't even want me to tell you. Said I'd worry you before it was necessary. I told her you weren't a child any more and that you would never forgive her or me for keeping it from you."

Roheis had never vouched for her little sister's maturity before. The astonishment on Meghan's face must have registered with Roheis for she flushed and fumbled with the ends of her hair, looping it about her fingers. Roheis had stopped sobbing, but she continued to sniffle and gasp as her breathing returned to normal. Meghan was fascinated by the quilts on the bed, and traced a pattern with her finger. "Well..." her voice was dry.

"I'm sorry!" Roheis blurted out, "I shouldn't have told you in that way."

"No. It's all right." It was strange. Meghan didn't feel the urge to cry. After the shock had worn off, she didn't feel her throat constrict. She felt a sadness welling within her, but she couldn't be sure if this was from hearing about her mother's dying or from her own lack of feeling towards the news. Meghan rose to her feet. "You should dry your eyes before Mother comes in."

Roheis even laughed as she wiped tear-stains from her cheeks. "She'd never tolerate seeing me like this."

"I'll go...I'll go and fetch her." The urge to leave the room was overwhelming. She was grateful when Roheis gave her leave to go. Maybe if she left it would all no longer be true. Mother would simply have a chill. She could go back to feeling sullen about not getting her way. Everything would fall back into place.

But when Meghan closed the door she only felt more like the horrid monster Roheis had accused her of being. She felt hollowed out inside. What daughter didn't cry at the idea of her mother dying? A bad daughter. A bad, cold girl with eyes that only looked like tears, but never cried. The guilt felt worse than the grief.

"Roheis told you, did she?"

Meghan started at her father's voice. He was standing before the closed door to his bedchamber, directly opposite Meghan and Roheis' room. It was all Meghan could do to nod. He looked a little relieved, as if glad that someone else had given her the news.

"Father," Meghan released her hold about the door knob and shuffled over. "I'll write to the Abbess. I'll tell her I had no right to ask permission to join her abbey on my own. I'll stay. I'll stay for as long as you need me to stay. I did not mean to be insolent. Forgive me."

To her surprise she caught a flicker of a smirk on her father's face. "How many times have you asked forgiveness for your insolence?"

Meghan lowered her head and blushed, stammering, "I have only ever tried to be a good and obedient daughter to you." Even then the words felt forced from her lips. The words 'good' and 'obedient' had been drummed into her head since before she could properly speak. She had tried to emulate these virtues, but only when it suited her. Recently she felt she could scream if she had to be reminded one more time to mind her wilfulness, to not be so stubborn. Now that she was growing into womanhood gone was the freedom of coming and going as she pleased. She was expected to carry herself as befitted her station. Her maidservants had the upmost patience for her. They tried to have her follow in Roheis' example while she watched jealously as her eldest brother, Rodger, was taught how to run an estate. It had crept upon her suddenly in those past few months, that while Careswich Manor was her home, it was not _hers_.

"And you are," Guy said, catching her chin and tilting her head up so that she met his eyes. "Do you think otherwise?"

There was a time, not long ago, when speaking to her father had been easy. Her siblings had always been too old, even Roheis with her two years advantage over Meg had seemed more like an adult than a child. When Meg was six she had overheard a few village girls a few years older than herself whispering about her and her siblings. She had only eavesdropped because they were saying such nice things about them. How Rodger always took the time to look in on everyone, how handsome Robin was becoming, and how sweet and pretty Roheis was. Meg didn't know what she expected, but heart bursting with a child's pride for the rest of her family, she flattered herself that they would have a kind word for her as well. All she heard was how sullen she always looked. How she never bothered with the other children and seemed a harsh girl. They even asked if she could speak at all.

Upset, Meg had stolen herself away to go cry. Her sister told her that was all gossip was, and that would teach her to go spying. Robin tried to tell her a joke to make her smile. Her mother dried her eyes and told her not to concern herself with what others thought and only trust in herself. It was good advice looking back on it. But it was only her father who asked how she felt. When she responded with all the vocabulary of a hurt six-year-old that she was angry, he didn't laugh at her outburst. He did laugh a little when Meg later admitted she didn't even know what the words sullen or harsh meant. After having them explained Guy said perhaps she should go show those girls she could speak after all. So she did. Going straight over to them the following day and parroting back the definitions of all the words they had used to describe her. They had seemed so embarrassed that Meg felt a little sorry for catching them out. That very same afternoon she made a gift of picked flowers. The girls were kinder then, even holding her in a little higher esteem, she fancied. It was funny, but those old insults still stung even after all this time.

"Come with me," Guy said, starting down the stairs.

"With you?" Meg asked, perplexed at the invitation.

"Yes." There was a touch of severity to Guy's tone. "Too old to go for a walk with your father?"

With a smirk she thought matched his, Meg looped her arm about Guy's. "Not yet, I hope." And they went down and out of the manor together.

The immediate grounds outside were still humming with servants and villagers decorating. Meg did not even have to suggest finding a quieter spot, for her father was already steering them in the direction of the woods. When it became calmer again, he spoke, halting a little after every word as if unsure if what he said was acceptable. "I want you to know, I do not think of you as an ignorant child."

"Father..."

Guy gave her arm a little shake, silencing her. "Sometimes you seem older than you truly are. Always have."

Meghan shot him a queer look, waiting for him to get to the point. Guy gave an exasperated sigh and licked his lips, an old habit that he was prone to performing whenever he found himself at a loss for words. "What I mean is...I have decided...you have my permission to go to Polesworth Abbey."

The slack-jawed look on Meghan's face must have made her father regret giving her the compliment of maturity. "But," her voice registered as no higher than a squeak, "you said no daughter of yours would ever be sent to a convent! You were adamant!"

"I can change my mind can't I?" Guy huffed. "With Roheis' marriage coming it is time we settled on a place for you."

"I suppose you will next tell me that you knew I would never marry," Meghan added with a sly chuckle. Her head felt increasingly light. Perhaps it was due to the sudden pounding in her chest. And was it just her, or did the day feel brighter and the world feel more open and freer than before?

"No. I thought you would...I hoped."

"I have larger goals and ambitions."

To Meghan's surprise her father laughed, but it was humorless and there was an emotion in his face she could not understand. This worried her. "You remind me of someone with similar ideals at that age."

"Oh? Who?" Was it her uncle Archer? She doubted it. He was as changing as the wind. She didn't know how her Aunt Thea dealt with such a rogue of a man, even as he approached his older years he still roved ceaselessly. If the man had ambitions he was very quiet about it.

"Myself," answered her father with a thoughtful tone. Meghan swore she heard him add under his breath, "And that is what frightens me."

"Why should that frighten you, Father?" Meghan asked quite aware that she was tredding on thin ice.

"There was a time," again her father sighed, "a long while ago when my ambitions for power and position destroyed me." There was that look in his eyes again that Meghan could not decipher. It was a look that reminded her of his frequent moods. Often there were days where Meg would hardly see her father. He liked his isolation sometimes. It was usually Mother who could get him to come round again. Meghan frowned. Who was going to bring her father out of his brooding moods once Mother was gone?

"You seem whole and healthy for a destroyed man," Meghan quipped with her sarcasm, shielding herself from thinking too heavily on the matter.

"I was fortunate enough to meet with a stubborn individual who fitted the pieces back together."

"Father, please do not worry for my sake. I have no obsessions with my own goals. I simply know what I would like to accomplish."

"Good," he said fervently. "But if you are not made Abbess within a fortnight of your coming to the Abbey I will come drag you back home myself."

Meghan laughed aloud, "If Mother heard you she'd slap you for that."

"Lucky she isn't here then."

Meghan continued to laugh. She didn't know when her laughter dissolved into a cascade of tears. Mother was always giving her father light jabs whenever he teased her or one of the children. It made him laugh to see her riled up so. It made Meghan laugh as a child. Her mother was always there to stop her from taking herself so seriously. Her mother who was proud of her stubborn, odd daughter; who was the strongest woman she knew. Her mother who was now so weak she would probably never be able to be out of bed for long. Her mother who, now that she was really going to the Abbey, she would probably never see again.

Her breath hitched and she felt a sharp pain constrict her lungs to a point. Her throat burned as she sobbed. She pressed her head against her father's arm to prevent him from looking at her red and puffy face, humiliated at crying in front of him. Much to Meghan's comfort, Guy neither stopped walking, nor did he hush his daughter's tears. He merely gripped her arm tighter and allowed for her to cry unnoticed. It was only when, in trying to speak, she found herself fighting for air, her tears preventing her from breathing, that Guy finally stopped, took both of her hands in his and forced her to take long slow breaths.

"I...I don't...don't want to leave right away!"

"Of course not. You won't be going anywhere for at least a week after Roheis' wedding."

Meghan nodded and threw her arms around her father. "I'm really happy, you know. That's all. I'm very happy."

"I know," Guy said in a tone which made clear he understood all that Meghan left unsaid. His voice seemed so very sad and lost. He returned his daughter's embrace. "I know you are."

* * *

The festivities of the wedding seemed to go by in a whirlwind. Roheis had seemed practically euphoric with her new husband, but then again, the couple had known one another since a very young age. It had been Lady Adela's idea to match her eldest son with the eldest daughter of her closest friends. Guy had thought the idea a sentimental one. There was no telling if the children would take to one another. But, as in most things, he had been proven wrong.

Roheis had departed with her husband for his family's estate. A week later Meg had gone on horseback to Polesworth Abbey. And everything had gone quiet. Walking around the manor now it was hard to imagine these halls ever heard the chaotic footsteps of children. As Guy made his way up the staircase he nearly paused half way up out of habit. Meg used to follow him around like a shadow, and although she had long outgrown that habit before she left, it was hard to stop from peering over his shoulder where he used to see a little girl toddling on unsteady legs after him.

Guy tapped his fingers on the banister to keep from allowing the silence to suffocate him. He should start to get used to this. Soon the silence would grow by one. He lingered outside of his bedchamber. He could see from below two servants lighting the candles in the hall as the evening light grew dimmer by the second. There was a weak coughing from within the room, the only sound apart from the scraping and shuffling of the servants downstairs. Guy gave the door a push and let it swing lazily open.

Shy sat wrapped up in her shawl, staring out of an open window. She had grown so small as the sickness ate away at her. It was easier to imagine her growing smaller and smaller until she disappeared rather than watching her fade into this frail thing.

"I think tomorrow I'll go for a walk outside," Shy said, her once strong, rasping voice no louder than a whisper now. "I'm feeling much better today." She glanced over at him, silver hair falling in wisps about her face. The only thing young about her now was her bright gray eyes. Those had never lost their fire.

"Physician says you're to stay indoors." He couldn't help but laugh as he heard Shy curse the man.

She had done her best to make herself appear healthier for the sake of the children. Now that they were gone, she seemed to be fading faster than ever. "It's damn tedious," she said, sitting up and stretching. "It's too quiet here now that the children have gone." She gave a light sigh and settled back against the chair. "I'm glad they're taken care of," she added quietly.

Her head tilted back as Guy stroked her hair idly. He took her hand in his and rubbed life back into fingers far too cold for such a warm day. Shy payed him little heed and Guy could feel her frustration as she stared out past the wooden bars on the window. They must feel little better than iron bolts on a cage. With his hand still clasped about Shy's own, Guy could feel the puncture in the skin where old scars from shackles still marked her wrist. Their second eldest, Robin, had been the only one to really notice his mother's scars on her hands and arms. The boy had been more astute than anyone gave him credit for. He had been the only one Shy had told of the meaning of those scars. There were nights she had stayed awake long into the night discussing how she should tell the others. Eventually Shy had decided she would not unless asked. Roheis would be too overwhelmed, she excused, Rodger would take it too hard, and Meg was always too young.

Guy ran a thumb around the circumference of the pink and puckered skin. There were still days when she drew away from him into her own private, melancholy world. Reflecting on those times now, he could only ever see the wild-eyed young woman staring down at him when he first awoke in the slaver's cart all those years ago. Sometimes he still wondered why she had saved him. How he had even deserved to be saved. Why had someone so broken decided to fix him? And how, in God's name, had he managed to keep her without destroying her as he had everything else in his life? How was he to keep going after such a fixed point faded?

He pressed her hand to his lips. It was only when he kept her hand there longer than was necessary that Shy's attentions came round. Her hand was pulled from Guy's grasp. "None of that now," she snapped in a kinder tone than one would have thought. Guy knew how she never liked seeing him in one of his darker moods, so much so that it bordered on an obsessive need to catch him out of them. It was more her fervor for doing so that managed to lighten him than anything she ever did. Perhaps his sorrows brushed too close to her own for her to tolerate. He tried to smile for her, but all he could think of was an empty silence that would fill Shy's place when those darker days came for him.

"What did I just say, hm?" Shy said, prodding him in the chest. Her hand then lay flat against him only to curl about his tunic in a fist. It was then Guy saw the fear in her eyes and understood that she was just as scared of her leaving him as he was.

Shy had to release him as another coughing fit took hold of her. Guy had to fight down an overwhelming sense of helplessness as he watched Shy fight a losing battle. She slumped over, catching her breath in thin wheezes and looking utterly defeated. It was intolerable watching this. When he felt as miserable as she looked, Shy had always been ready with one enthusiastic scheme after another to bring him round. Now she lacked the energy to do anything but plead with him not to despair while she started to give in herself. That was unacceptable.

Quicker than he could think, Guy slid an arm under her knees and about her shoulders and lifted Shy from her chair. "What are you doing?" She protested thinly.

"We're..." What _was_ he doing? Shy was always better at this than he was. "We're going outside."

"But you just said—what about physician's orders and all that?"

"Damn the physician," Guy grunted.

Shy even grinned at that. "Can we make for the woods while there's still light out?"

Guy nodded as he shifted her in his arms to open the door. He could see her out of the corner of his eye as he walked down the hall towards the staircase that there was a glow of mischief about her. "May I ask what prompted this change of heart?"

Shrugging was a bit of an impossibility so denial of any importance was out of the question. "I thought...I only wanted..." was he still truly tongue-tied with his own emotions after all these years? Frustrated, he snapped, "Must I always explain everything to you?"

Luckily, Guy knew his wife understood him almost as well as he understood himself. So instead of an indignant or hurtful look, Shy laughed. And not since before her illness had he heard her laugh so. "Lord defend us!" She exclaimed, "It has finally happened. You've become a sentimental old fool."

Guy smiled as Shy pressed a kiss to his cheek and clung to him just a bit tighter. He remembered how tight she had held to him when he had brought her out of the rain in the courtyard of Warwick Castle. How she had given him a few sleep-addled kisses and he had almost lost her with his impulsive desire.

They stepped out into the still bright evening. Shy seemed to breathe the ethereal stillness in and revel in it, exhaling with a sigh, "I wish I could run."

Guy raised an eyebrow at that. Shy tapped a finger against his chest. "Don't you dare."

Of course he would. He was still far stronger than she was and hadn't lost nearly as much of his endurance. He managed to keep a steady pace for a while. Shy laughed and might have even shrieked like a child if she could have. Her unadulterated joy egged him on. She protested breathily to stop several times. He did, but only because he couldn't keep up the pace any longer. They weren't quite on the fringe of the woodlands yet, but Guy didn't want to travel any farther while the light was fading. Shy seemed content with the meadow and didn't complain when he set her down in the tall grass. She was still laughing a bit and shaking her head at him when another coughing fit took over her. This one did not last long, but Guy could see that it still caused her pain.

When the fit passed, Shy leaned back on her arms and tilted her head up to the sunlight. "You should just remember this, right now," she told him quietly with her eyes closed, hair silver in the sun, a smile on her pale lips. "Don't think about what is missing or what was. Just think about this evening."

"Shy..." He could only think of evenings that were and that were never going to be. How could she tell him that now when she looked as wild as the day they had first set out for home together? How everything had still been ahead?

Shy opened her eyes, shaking her head. She pushed herself against him and Guy gladly embraced her. She hushed him, almost rocking him. Wasn't he supposed to be comforting her? "Aren't you happy now? Right now?" She asked, "And don't you lie to me, Gisborne, I always know when you lie."

Guy laughed, a choking laugh that could not be fully realized. Shy sighed, "Then that's all there is. That's all there needs to be."

Guy knew that might only be true for today, but he also knew that this might be all Shy could give him. He tried not to think of all the times he had nearly lost her only to be proven wrong. Might this be one of those times? Shy coughed against him. After two fits so close together, she didn't have the strength for this one. She could only gasp and struggle to breathe as her own lungs rejected the air in her body.

A warm wind whipped up around them, rustling the stalks of grass about them. Shy calmed and quieted as she listened. Guy became aware that he was holding her tighter than before, his head pressed to hers, face buried in her hair.

"You know it was on an evening like this that I found you," Shy whispered. "I could have escaped to freedom if it hadn't been for you. Ah, well, freedom must come in many different forms. What do you think?" She asked, turning about so that she could look up at the sky again.

"I think that must be so," Guy said with a quiet thoughtfulness that was not like him. "For I have daily proof of that."

And the two looked over at one another and smiled.

* * *

**A/N: And another fic come and gone! Clocking in at 190k words and just over 300 pages on Word this has been my longest fic yet and I'd like thank everyone who has read and enjoyed it. :) You guys are the best and you can have no idea how much your critiques and comments were appreciated. **

**Hopefully there will be more projects coming up soon! Until then, thanks so much again!  
**


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